Nurse, Nurse
by YonderB
Summary: AU. Sequel to Doctor, Doctor, but can be read on it's own. Random drabbles about random moments inspired by the names of symptoms or diseases. Rated for doctorly-stuff; Drugs, stitching up skin, etc. And language. And mentions of sex. Lots of it.
1. Psychosis

_Psychosis_

_A severe mental disorder, sometimes with physical damage to the brain, marked by a deranged personality and a distorted view of reality._

It was a stormy day in Radiant Garden, the ice-cold rain hammering down upon Radiant Garden General Hospital in sheets, distorting the windows, making the lights flicker, and absolutely screwing up anyone's planned evening of mini-golf.

There was a single person in the north-end of the hospital who's mind was not thinking about the rain; nor golf. It was merely taken up by every foul word imaginable in more than seven languages.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Squall 'Leon' Leonhart, MD. Head of the department of diagnostic medicine, a frigid ass, and also in a lot of pain.

Leon was a handsome young man. Very talented in his field of medicine, and very specific about the people he hung out with. The reason he was now in the room with one Cloud Strife he was often seen having lunch with, is an anomaly.

It was only ten in the morning.

Cloud Strife, MD. is the head of the department of oncology, a womaniser, and a manipulative bastard. He had all the nurses in the hospital under his thumb –and under other parts of his body– except the lesbian and male ones, and he was often seen flirting with the dean of the hospital, Aerith Geinsborough, when he wasn't making Leon's life a living hell, or vice versa.

Neither male liked each other, but, they knew each other best. Ever heard of the statement 'better the devil you know'?

Leon sat in Cloud's office, a hand placed on his face.

The oncologist's office was small but cosy. His desk in one corner, and some nice, comfy couches in the other corner surrounding a nice glass coffee table, by the wall-length window. Leon now resided on one of these couches.

He lay across the leather couch, his head propped up against the arm of it, his shoulder-length silky brown hair fanned out on the shiny black material, and his legs just crossed at the ankle on the other arm of the couch. He wore a deep-blue suit this morning, but his jacket had been slung over the arm of the couch under his head; revealing his neatly-ironed white shirt and his slightly-loostened blue tie. His skin was nicely tanned, but his face was unseen, hidden behind his hand, which was holding a thick wad of material against the bridge of his nose.

Behind his desk, was Cloud. He was very handsome, much like Leon himself, but in more of a feminine way. His golden-blonde short hair was spiked intricately, pointing in every direction, his skin was gently tanned, and his bright blue eyes could pierce into the soul of any person who was even remotely attracted to men.

He wore a nice black suit today, his jacket slung over his desk, revealing his simple white shirt that had half of the top-buttons undone, revealing some of his chest, his tie long-gone– along with nurse Rikku from their little early-morning 'chat'.

"Now, remind me again," Cloud said, straitening up from behind his desk, his own little first-aid box in his hand as he rounded the shiny wood to come and stand over Leon; both his hands clad in clean, white, rubber gloves, "why can your patients cut up your face and I can't?"

"You know your anatomy," grunted Leon, not removing the cloth from his face, not giving the blonde oncologist standing over him the gift of opening his pretty grey-blue eyes to look at him. "For all I know, you could try to kill me with a hypodermic needle to the pupil."

"Ah, good times," sighed Cloud delightedly, seating himself by the brunette's head on an upturned trash-basket, opening the first-aid box on his lap.

It should be known that the two men had their own little '_language_'. To onlookers, they may seem to be speaking of lesbian orgies or glow-in-the-dark condoms, while, truthfully, under all the sarcasm and jibes, they were actually talking about cabbage or cricket.

One of the med-students tried to learn their language a few years ago, and he hasn't been able to talk about the experience since without bursting into tears or starting to cluck like a chicken.

With very skilled fingers, Cloud removed a needle from the box on his lap before removing a small glass bottle of local anaesthetic too, piercing the needle through the rubber stopper of the bottle to suck out some of the clear liquid.

"Question," the blonde said as he pulled the bottle from the needle and placed it back in the box, "you allergic to latex? Lubricants?" A wide, smug smirk had taken up residence on his face as he held the needle in front of his face and flicked at it.

One of Leon's grey-blue eyes opened and he stared flatly at his image of the upside-down blonde oncologist, clearly unimpressed. "Not that I know of. But, if we're going to have sex, please be gentle."

It also should be known that both men were _straight_.

"Sure thing, love," Cloud returned with a smug wink.

Their 'language' was an odd one. In the conversation above, it actually had nothing to do with hot, gay sex on office desks, but instead, Cloud stated that he was going to try to make it so it wouldn't hurt, Leon replied that his efforts would be acceptable, and Cloud just threw in the fact that he might _enjoy_ it if Leon _was_ in pain.

The brunette finally removed his hand and cloth from his face, and a delicate but deep gash was revealed. The strait, narrow wound started just above his right eyebrow, leading over the bridge of his nose, to stop just under his left eye. It was very clear, and the skin around it was a very raw red; beads of blood starting to weep from the cut.

With a musical and seemingly whimsical hum of a tune, Cloud rose the needle in his hand and pierced the skin of the bridge of Leon's nose. The diagnostician's eyes fluttered at the mild pain, his fingers kneading at the blood-soaked cloth in his hand as the blonde above him injected the right amount of the anaesthetic under the skin before removing the needle.

"You sure I can't do any piercings while I'm here?" Cloud asked as he placed the used needle on the table beside him, removing a sharp, thin, hook-shaped piece of metal from the first-aid box, plucking at a few lengths of string with his other hand.

With a tiny snort of amusement, the brunette closed his eyes. "No, thank you. I don't really feel like dropping my pants right now."

The blonde sniggered and threaded the stitching-silk through the hooked needle dextrously and rose the needle to Leon's face– taking a moment to dab at the blood oozing from the injury with a small sponge from the first-aid box with his other hand.

"Another word for 'homosexual', also a name of something edible," Cloud recited as he pierced the skin of Leon's face, hooking the needle under the injury and pulling it out of the flesh on the other side of the wound.

All Leon felt was pressure and a faint tugging. Thank _God_ for local anaesthetics. Keeping his eyes closed, the brunette thought about it as he felt more pressure and tugging. "Fruit," he stated.

Cloud nodded, moving to his third stitch, piercing the skin just on the side of the bridge of the brunette's nose carefully. "My favourite book," he said, tying the stitch carefully with his thin fingers.

He was just getting Leon to talk to make sure it getting too quiet, the brunette knew that.

A grey-blue eye peeked open. "Besides _Play Boy_?" Leon asked interestedly.

Cloud nodded, cutting the string and starting on a new stitch, a smirk on his face. "I suppose, yes. You get bonus points if you guess which edition." Leon thought about it, but when he'd come up with the answer, the blonde had moved from his place hanging directly over him and the brunette watched the womanising oncologist sit on the table in front of the couch he was lying on.

"Get up, fatass," Cloud stated, giving Leon's leg a sharp slap. He sat on the glass coffee table in front of the couch, his first-aid box beside him, elbows on his knees.

"Your bedside manner sucks," the brunette grunted, sitting up and slipping his legs off the edge of the couch, directly in front of Cloud, placing the bloody material he'd been using as a pressure-bandage onto the glass beside the first-aid box.

"You get the default 'asshole' bedside manner," Cloud stated with a smug grin, shifting closer so that the brunette was effectively sitting in between his legs, pressing a clean white sponge against the weeping wound. "Would you prefer the 'before sex' beside manner, 'after sex', or 'ohmygod, a dying cancer kiddie'?"

"Does 'after sex' have to include cuddling?" Leon asked, closing his eyes as the blonde cupped the side of his face and pressed a little harder against the stitching.

"'fraid so."

"I'll stick with the asshole."

"Suit yourself," Cloud stated quietly with a shrug, dropping the used bandage on the glass beside him, exhaling gently over the inflamed skin. It really wasn't medically helpful, but the anaesthetic was starting to wear off, and Leon thought it felt reasonably pleasant.

Besides, the womanising bastard had eaten a chocolate éclair a while ago, so it smelt nice too.

The door of the office flew open without a knock and there immediately was a flat, unimpressed grunt of "Dear_ Lord_" from the doorway. Cloud turned and looked over his shoulder, while Leon just opened his eyes, the two of them looking in the direction of the noise, and the door.

A nurse stood in the door, a file held to her reasonably-sized bosom, eyes fixed on the two department heads.

"Hello, nurse Paine," Cloud said silkily.

"Have you two stopped being gay?" the pretty nurse asked woodenly. Nurse Paine was a 'lovely little thing' in Cloud's own words, and her short, swept-back, blackish hair always shined in the lighting of the hospital, but her slightly snippy demeanour often scared people away. She could be swayed by the blonde oncologist's charm if he tried, but he hasn't slept with her yet, as far as the gossip floating around the hospital has found.

Apparently, she'd taken their very close proximity to be gratuitous homosexual making out.

The two department heads glanced at each other, and Leon shrugged. "I could kiss him, if you'd like," the brunette stated flatly. Cloud placed a mocking hand to his chest and let out a damsel-like sigh of delight.

"No, thank you," nurse Paine quickly amended, her pretty little nose wrinkling just that little bit, getting the two men's attention once again. "I was just sent here to see if you were okay, Doctor Leonhart."

The brunette nodded, touching the strait cut across the bridge of his nose and the seven delicately-woven stitches that ran across it, a stray bead of blood welling up from the wound and being smeared by his fingers. "I'm fine."

"The patient is awakening, and it seems her full-blown episode of psychosis was a one-off thing," Paine told him, glancing at the file in her arms. "The muscle-spasms are getting increasingly worse, though."

Nodding again, Leon took the file from nurse Paine as she entered the office completely and handed to him. "Thank you," he said.

The pretty nurse nodded in reply, turning back to the door.

Another pretty nurse appeared in the hallway and smiled into the office through the open door, her long blonde hair having slender braids all through it, tied up with what looked like a blue and silver man's tie. Cloud quickly gave nurse Rikku a wink, and the female blonde immediately flushed and was about to say something when Paine grabbed her by the arm and dragged her, down the hallway, away from the flirtatious oncologist.

Leon fingered the cut on his face and his hand received a light flick from the blonde in front of him. "Stop picking at it," Cloud huffed, packing up his medical doohicky-whatsits and putting them away.

The rain continued hammering down upon Radiant Garden General Hospital as the head of the department of diagnostic medicine just gave the head of oncology the finger.

((I had so many ideas for a sequel to Doctor Doctor, but, there were too many to stick into a single oneshot, so, I thought, hey. Why don't I just make them a series of drabbles instead? This is just an intro to the people who haven't read my Doctor Doctor oneshot, and I wrote it during a writing slump, so, do forgive the bad writing. Enjoy. Much more to come. There isn't going to be any man-on-man action, so, fear not.))


	2. Migraine

_Migraine_

_A severe, disabling headache, usually affecting only one side of the head, and often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, photophobia, phonophobia and visual disturbances._

Cloud Strife strolled the corridors of the Radiant Garden General Hospital, hands in his impeccably tailored pant-pockets, pretty little lips pursed. He was looking for mischief. His face suddenly morphing into a warm, glowing smile, he entered a specific patient's room; directly to his left, and eyed the little balding child sitting in the bed.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked kindly. He'd perfected his nice-doctor act over the years, and the child looked up, her small button nose flushing pink as she held up the large picture-book in her lap and blinked at him, the seat beside her bed, empty.

"What's this word, Doctor Strife?" she asked, pointing to the page in front of her, her voice quiet and scratchy from the chemotherapy; Cloud also knew that she had a fever and had thrown up less than an hour ago, even though she had nothing in her stomach to begin with.

Striding over, the oncologist leant close to the little girl, not disturbing the numerous tubes connected to the backs of her hands and inner-arms with practised ease. Eyeing the colourful lettering just above her pale little finger on the paper of the picture-book, Cloud sounded the word out for her.

Her pretty little nose wrinkled as she tried to copy the pattern of noises. "St-re-nn-g-th," she said slowly.

"That's it!" the oncologist gushed, tapping the little patient on the nose, his smile widening. A delighted little giggle twittered from the little cancer child, and she beamed delightedly at him. Cloud felt mildly depressed that she was so young that she thought that being in this hospital, being poked and jabbed with needles more than twice a week and having all your hair fall out was normal.

Blue eyes looking over to the small table by the end of the bed, the blonde man saw the untouched tray of assorted, bland foods. "Not hungry?" he asked, looking back at the young patient, who was repeating 'strength' over and over until it felt right.

Looking up at him after he'd repeated his question again, the little girl shook her head, looking back at her picture-book. "No," she agreed with a quiet sigh. "Nothing tastes nice anymore, and my tummy feels icky."

Cloud nodded. She'd throw up anything she ate, anyway. Even if it _did_ taste nice.

After a moment, a real smile broke out on the blonde doctor's face, and the little girl stared up at him with big, curious eyes. "I'll be right back," Cloud said quickly before turning heel and speeding down the corridor.

Screeching to a halt in front of Leon's office, the blonde pulled the door open and opened his mouth to say something, but it immediately died on his lips.

The office was completely dark, the curtains drawn, the computer screen turned off, and it was _completely silent_. Blue eyes adjusting to the darkness quickly, the blonde saw the ever-pain-in-the-ass; Leon, hunched over his desk, his head cradled in his arms, breathing shallowly.

A shit-eating grin spreading over his face, Cloud entered the office silently, closing the door behind him.

Creeping noiselessly over to the desk, the blonde eased himself into one of the chairs, glad that it didn't squeak. Raising his legs, already crossed at the ankle, the oncologist let his thick-soled boots hover a reasonable distance above the surface of the desk, then, he let gravity take over.

_THUMP_

Leon's whole body jerked as though he'd been zapped with an assload of static electricity, and then there was silence. His head stayed rigidly cradled in his arms, he stopped breathing, and there was _nothing_.

Very slowly, the diagnostician drew in a tight, shaky breath. "By the Gods, I hate you." It sounded like a sob.

It probably was.

"You okay luv?" Cloud called, raising his voice higher and louder than was really necessary, his boots still placed on the desktop, his hands linked, smugly, on his lap.

Another shaky breath. "I _really_ hate you." Leon was almost trembling. If only it didn't hurt so much to do so.

Cloud was grinning so wide the top of his head should've raised it's pretty little middle-finger at the laws of physics and just snapped straight off. He liked causing the brunette pain. As, he guessed, Leon did he. It almost make him high.

"Taken anything yet?" Cloud called, voice still raised.

A very slight shift in the brunette's shoulders signified that, no, the diagnostician had _not_ taken anything to ease his migraine that felt like five-thousand tap-dancers were clomping over a giant drum with a few Indian elephants as backup in his head, and _no_, he would not forget this cruelty on the oncologist's part anytime soon, _and_, Cloud should watch out for scorpions in his bathtub, or a sudden irreversible bout of a mutated strain of rabies.

"I'll get you something!" Hooking his feet back off the desk, Cloud let them meet the floor with a sharp _BANG_, causing the diagnostician to jerk again, pain shooting through every vein, every nerve, every _cell_ in the brown-haired man's head and neck. With his glimmering, oh so delighted grin, the blonde oncologist cheerily stomped out of the office and wrenched the door open, letting the shiny wood whack noisily into the wall behind it, before he stepped out of the office and slammed the door closed behind him.

Back inside the office, Leon was thinking about committing suicide, but couldn't move to get his box-cutters from the drawer because of the blinding pain pulsating behind his eyes.

God, he hated Cloud.

God knew this fact, because the statement was repeated at least seven times a day, and the almighty deity often chose to watch over the two doctor's daily shenanigans purely just to see just how wrong the idea of creating life was.

Cloud made his cheery way downstairs to the walk-in clinic and slipped straight into a random exam room; ignoring the high-pitched squeak he received from the patient, and the nurse tending to him.

"Don't mind me," the blonde chimed, walking over to one of the cupboards and opening it, fingering through all the different boxes of free samples of pain-relievers and such. The silver-haired teenaged patient let his bright, green-blue eyes flicker from the blonde oncologist, to the nurse standing in front of him who was fingering his sprained wrist, and back again.

Finding exactly what he needed, Cloud plucked two pills from a specific box and closed the cupboard again, turning back to the patient and nurse.

"Yes?" the stunningly handsome blonde doctor asked. The silver-haired male patient gaped silently at him, looking a might awed, before a slight punk flush spread across his pale cheeks the moment Cloud looked at him.

"Doctor Strife," murmured the nurse, biting at the edge of her pretty little lip, "you really shouldn't walk in without being paged- or even knocking," she said quietly.

"Right you are, Yuna," sighed Cloud, almost as though he'd forgotten basic procedure. He leant over and gave the nurse a quick peck on the cheek, making her flush a brilliant crimson. "Thank you for reminding me." Cloud looked to the side at the silver-haired patient, and rose a gold eyebrow simply. "Not kissing _you_ until you start working here."

With that, the doctor swept back out of the exam-room, pills in hand, leaving two very flustered and flushed teens behind him.

Squall 'Leon' Leonhart's office door slammed open once again a few minutes later, making the pained brunette jump again and groan quietly into his arms in pure, unadulterated agony.

"Oh, _hush_," Cloud huffed as he kicked the door closed again, making the offending piece of wood slam loudly, the brunette jumping again as the noise echoed in his ears, making his brain feel like it was being used as a bass-drum.

"You're _torturing_ me," Leon moaned quietly in objection, every thump of the blonde's boots as he walked towards him shooting strait into the diagnostician's brain like a white-hot barbed arrow.

"Rubbish," sighed the blonde, coming to a stop behind the brunette's chair, slipping a hand under the diagnostician's neck to heave Leon back. The oncologist made the other man straiten up, leaning his back fully against the back of the chair, and the back of Leon's head pressed against Cloud's warm stomach.

Leon was in so much pain that he wanted to die.

Well, he wanted _Cloud_ to die more. He wanted Cloud to _die_. So that Leon would be amused and laugh his sanity out the window and die from hyperventilation. Yes, that had a nice ring to it.

Fatal hilarity.

Lovely.

The diagnostician faintly felt through his fog of agony and loathing that Cloud was forcing his mouth open and slipping two pills down his throat with his fingers.

Leon didn't want to know where those fingers had been.

Cloud's other hand was curled around the side of his neck, and he felt those fingers –far too close to his trachea for comfort– squeeze lightly, urging him to swallow the pills after those fingers slipped back out of his mouth. _Urgh_. Cloud, swallow and _fingers_ in the same sentence.

Leon hated his life.

It seemed that the pure agony he was going through had short-circited his brain, and the diagnostician swallowed.

"That wasn't flunitrazepam, was it?" he croaked, barely peeking one eye open to see a hint of a blurry up-side-down image of the blonde hanging over him before he thought it was too painful and closed it again.

"The date-rape drug?" hummed the oncologist thoughtfully, both hands now on either side of the brunette's neck and making the diagnostician's pain double, since he was uncertain on what those hands were going to do. "Never thought of using that."

"_Fascinating_." Plain and simple sarcasm.

"Never tried it, so, I wouldn't know if it would work."

"You sure?"

"All my ladies come _willingly_, I'll have you know."

The diagnostician snorted in amused disbelief but his amusement was immediately cut short because that movement made his pain spike from a seven, to a nine and a half.

Cloud slapping him on the shoulder, however, made the nine and a half shoot up to a ten, and made his seven look like a mere two point five.

"I need that cake you got from that pretty nurse who's got the hots for you," the blonde stated simply, still standing behind Leon, the man's messy head of hair pressed against his stomach.

"Have it," grunted the brunette. "Have a party. Elope. Marry it. Have threesomes with some cupcakes. I don't care."

"You're a pal!" chirped Cloud happily. And _loudly_.

With that, the blonde bent down, gave the brunette a quick kiss on the top of his head, making the diagnostician moan in pain, and he moved away; plucking open the small fridge that was beside the desk, and removed the plate of a very small, but expensive-looking cake from beside the six-pack of beer.

The head of oncology poked his head into the room of his young patient a few moments later, and smiled at her. The little girl looked back at him, and smiled back.

"Hello again!" she chirped, her book closed on her lap.

Cloud entered the room; both hands behind his back. Perfect way to get anyone interested in whatever you have: hide it. Indeed the little girl was interested, and she tried to see what he was holding from her place on the semi-uncomfotable bed, but eventually settled for just sitting there with a small pout when she couldn't.

Breaking into a wide grin, the doctor came over to her side and placed the plate of cake on her lap. Immediately, her eyes went wide and she gaped at him. Even if she was going to throw it up, she might as well taste something nice first, Cloud thought. "Eat up," he grinned, placing a plastic fork into her hand before easily slipping back out of the room again.

A delighted squeal of 'Thank you, Doctor Strife!' followed him down the hall.

An hour later, the resident manipulative bastard made his way back to Leon's office, rubbing a smear of cherry lipgloss off his throat, and let the door swing open.

The resident frigid prick sat at his desk, cheek in hand, eyes staring down at his desk.

Before Cloud could say a word, Leon cut him off. 

"You gave me tramadol, didn't you?"

The blonde broke into one of the widest, most smug smirks in the history of anything living since the first cat ate the pet canary, drank all the cream, suffocated the dog, tore up the whole sock-drawer and proclaimed world-domination and the fact it was quickly working toward galaxy-domination.

The brunette looked up, and even from his place in the doorway, Cloud could see that his pupils were uneven.

"I'd come over there to hurt you if I could stand," said Leon woodenly.

Cloud blinked. "You can't stand?" Leon had never mentioned _that_ symptom from his allergy to tramadol.

"My legs are wobbly." The diagnostician let his hand slip, and his forehead smacked into his desk. After a moment, there was a quiet giggle from the man.

"You're surrounded by glittery-shiny things, the floor keeps impersonating the shore of a tropical beach, and every time I move any part of my body, momentum fucks up and I feel like I'm floating."

Cloud broke into a grin. "But your migraine is gone, right?"

Leon sighed against his desk. "Yes, but the fact that my allergy to tramadol has made it so I can see tiny glittery things on the insides of my eyelids and that the walls are moving really doesn't make it any better."

The diagnostician heaved his head back up and fixed Cloud with a very bleary-eyed glare. "Why did you have to give me the only anti-inflamitory drug that I'm allergic to?"

"Because it's fun!" With a bright smile, the oncologist easily strode over to the desk, slipped around it, plopping himself on top of it right in front of the other man, and crossed his legs at the ankle. If Leon was any average gay guy, or any _strait woman_, it'd be one of the most coquettish acts ever conceived.

Luckily for both men, he was neither.

"You forgot to turn off your flirt button," Leon grunted.

Cloud looked down at his sitting-position and how close they were, and he blinked. "Oh. So I did."

Leon rose a hand and gave the blonde's thigh a quick jab.

"Beep," smirked the blonde.

Rolling his unevenly dilated grey-blue eyes, Leon was promptly distracted by the giant butterfly-lizard-train-squirrel floating by the window, and he waved at it.

((I'm allergic to tramadol, and I thought I'd write a quick chapter on how it feels. I haven't met a giant butterfly-lizard-train-squirrel yet, but the rest I have experienced! I wanted to write Cloud being caring before becoming a complete bastard, so, yeah. Hope you enjoyed!))


	3. Euphoria

_Euphoria_

_An excited state of joy, a good feeling, a state of intense happiness._

"You paged, O Master Sexypants, ruler of the Frigid City?"

Leon rolled his grey-blue eyes, his shoulder leaning against the wall beside him, hands in the pockets of his leather pants. He'd just yanked them on this morning purely because the cleaners had messed up his suits. Sending a glance over his shoulder, the diagnostician saw Cloud standing a little ways down the hall, walking toward him.

Obviously, the blonde had noticed his change in usual attire, even if Leon's doctor coat was covering most of the evidence.

"Yes, I did, mere stable-boy. And I say, watch your tongue or you will get a flogging."

A wide grin plastered itself across Cloud's pretty 'stable boy' face, and Leon rolled his eyes. "Not the nice flogging," he corrected the blonde.

"Ah, whatever you say," smiled the oncologist happily, coming up to the brunette's side and pinching hold of the back of his 'reluctant acquaintance's' coat: pulling it away from his body slightly to see the other man's pants. He let out an impressed whistle. "How did you even get _into_ those?"

"I'm an amoeba," Leon replied, deadpan. He felt the blonde pick at his belts, the tight leather not moving an inch against his skin before the blonde dropped the diagnostician's coat, letting it fall back into place; Cloud looking back up at him.

"So, you caught me in the middle of someone," he said simply. "What is it that you wanted to show me?"

The brunette straitened up from leaning against the wall and started walking down the hall, a quick flick of the head signifying that the blonde should follow. Letting out a quiet sigh, the flirtatious oncologist jogged to catch up before falling half a step behind the other man.

"She's not going to wait forever," Cloud reminded the brunette.

"Who was it this time?" Leon asked.

"Quistis from accounting."

"How far?"

"She was about to lift her skirt, I believe."

"Then your pager went off?"

"Yes. You have _impeccable_ timing."

"It wasn't intentional, but thank you anyway."

The blonde let out a long breath through his nose. "Can we hurry this along?"

Leon smirked. "My, aren't _you_ snippy when you don't get any," he hummed.

"No," corrected Cloud. "This is_ mildly irritated_. Snippy is when I drop a chunk of _dry ice_ down the front of those nice tight pants of yours."

The brunette bit his tongue to force himself not to flinch at what he guessed it would feel like to have that happen to him. "Calm down," he sighed, sending a quick glance at the other man. "This will only take a second."

The two men continued down the hall, and Cloud glanced up at the sign hanging over the double-doors standing at the end, the words glowing luminously like something from an underage techno dance-club.

"Emergency room?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Leon nodded, coming to a stop in front of the doors before pushing one open, revealing a large room with gurneys lining the walls, separated by some curtains, filled with people with sprained ankles, the occasional stab wound, maybe a broken arm and--

Cloud blinked. "Is that..."

"Astute observation," Leon replied before the other man could finish, a smirk tugging at his lips.

It was near to impossible to shock a doctor who has been in practising medicine for a good few years. The diagnostician and oncologist had both been practising medicine for over eight years each, so, it was basically inconceivable to surprise them. None the less, the patient sprawled across one of the nearby gurneys on his stomach intrigued Cloud.

"He has an _arrow stuck up his ass_."

Indeed he did.

"_Why_ does he have an arrow stuck up his ass?" continued the blonde, both eyebrows raised, staring blankly at the young man lying on his stomach, a perfectly feathered and smooth arrow sticking out of his left buttock like a slightly off-centre candle.

"Not too sure," murmured Leon, eying the patient too, a male nurse standing by the young man, as if waiting, his arms crossed. "He just limped in with the help of some random guy in the street."

"Poor guy," Cloud smiled. "He won't be able to sit down or walk properly for weeks."

The young man with the arrow stuck in his left buttock seemed to be either zoned out or high off the morphine the nurse had given him, because he let out a breathy giggle. He had spiked blonde hair, a little like Cloud's own, and a tribal-like tattoo across the left side of his face.

Maybe he'd been playing Cowboys And Indians or something and forgot to swap for the dummy-arrows.

"So many _colours_..." he smiled drunkenly, one cheek pressed against the mattress of the gurney, the one visible blue eye misted and staring at nothing in particular. "All the _pretty horses.._."

The nurse eyed him before lightly flicking a slender finger against the arrow.

"The pretty _butterfly_-horses!" the patient giggled.

Too much morphine, maybe? thought the nurse. With a shrug, he just went about removing the arrow, flicking a lock of violet-grey hair out of his eyes. The guy had been making such a fuss before he'd given him any morphine that the nurse couldn't even touch the arrow without him screaming; and now, he was so high he was hallucinating.

"Oh well," the nurse sighed, cutting the seat of the blonde man's cargo pants off.

"Sir, do you know your name?" he asked, eying the flesh around the arrow apathetically, grey hair falling over one of his eyes.

The patient giggled again. "Sir? I'm not a _sir!_" his grin widened and he snorted into the mattress. "But I'm sure as hell not a madam."

"Name?" the nurse repeated, deadpan. Maybe he should be careful with how much morphine he gives to patients next time.

"'s Zell. You want my _number_ too?" His voice was sliding up and down as though it was a beachball stuck in the middle of the ocean; floating over tall waves and falling back down onto smaller ones. And his high-pitched snorting giggles, however endearing, were gnawing at the nurse's nerves.

"All right, Zell. Do you know where you are?"

Zell smiled his wide, drunken smile. "I have _no idea_, but I've got a girl with her _hand_ on my _ass_, so, I think wherever I am, it's _fine_."

The nurse promptly removed his hand. "I'm not a woman," he snapped.

"Aw, that's not very nice...!" Zell cried, his voice doing a figurative loop-de-loop with pitch, either ignoring or oblivious to the nurse's objection. Quite suddenly, the blonde patient lifted his head a little, as though he'd just noticed something.

"Why am I lying here?" he croaked, his eyebrows furrowing as he gaped at nothing in particular.

"You have an _arrow_, Zell," the nurse said evenly. "In your _gluteus maximus._"

The blonde man squeezed his eyes closed as though it took all of his fractured concentration to do so, and then opened them again, his mouth still agape, a kid down the hall sitting in his wheelchair having a perfect view of Zell's tonsils.

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows floating upwards. "That sounds painful." With that, he let himself flop back onto the gurney and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, oblivious to the plastic tubes that were taped to the back of said fist. "Gluuuuteus _maaaaaximus_..." he sang with a wonky smile.

The nurse rolled his eyes.

"Holy _shit_," squeaked Zell after a good five minutes of singing 'I'm a little gluteus maximus'. "That's my ass, isn't it?"

"Yes," agreed the nurse, pausing in his removal of the sharp instrument from the young man's derrière.

In the doorway, Leon had the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, his shoulders shaking a little at his subdued sniggers. Ah, morphine-high patients are such fun. Better than TV. Cloud was not as stoic with his obvious amusement, and had slumped against the brown-haired man's shoulder, letting quiet, breathy snickers against Leon's coat.

Finally, the diagnostician gave the oncologist a light tap and motioned toward the morphine-high patient. "Should we help?" he asked with a smirk.

Cloud pursed his lips and looked back at the patient. Eyes floating to the nurse standing over Zell, a morbid smirk spread across his face. "Yes," the blonde agreed.

The nurse sighed and dropped the slightly bloody arrow onto a tray beside him, going about putting pressure on the purplish hole in the flesh with a sponge, ignoring Zell's occasional unexplained giggle or mumble about something that wasn't there.

There was the sound of wheels and the nurse looked up just in time to see Doctor Leonhart come to a stop in front of the gurney, sitting on a previously-unused wheelchair, cheek in his hand, Doctor Strife standing behind him, hands on the handles of the chair behind the diagnostician's shoulders.

"Can we help, Zexion?" Cloud asked kindly, a warm smile on his face.

The nurse flickered his deep blue eyes down to Leon, to see that the brunette had an equally warm smile on his face.

_Fuck_, thought Zexion.

It was a well-known fact in the Radiant Garden General Hospital that if Doctor Cloud Strife and Doctor Squall 'Leon' Leonhart were behaving themselves at the same time, they were planning something, had already done something, or their stash of booze had been threatened.

Zexion doubted it was the last one.

"Uh, _no_... thank you... Doctors," the silvery-haired young nurse mumbled hesitantly, looking back down at the wound under the sponge he was holding. If he let either of the doctors help him, either Zell would become deformed, Zexion's record would be deformed, or his mind or body would be thoroughly violated.

"Nonsense," Cloud chimed, stepping out from behind the wheelchair to come up behind the nurse. _Tooclosetooclostooclose_ thought Zexion with a twitch.

"Who are you?" Zell asked Leon dazedly, squinting at the brunette as though he was merely a murky mass of colours. Which, he actually _was_, in Zell's point of view.

"You can call me Doctor Leonhart," Leon told the patient, crossing his legs at the ankle, letting his hands fall onto the wheels on either side of him, smirking at the tattooed blonde.

"Did you know my brother used to call me chickenshit?" Zell asked, sounding both horrified and awed.

"No, _really?_" Leon asked, placing a hand onto his chest as though it was pure blasphemy to call a person like this patient 'chickenshit'. The brunette knew there was probably a reason, or it was just playful brotherly banter, but he felt like playing along anyway.

Zell bobbed his head up and down like a cockatoo, blue eyes wide, but still misty. "Yeah!"

"Cloud?" Leon looked over Zell's head as the patient let his face fall back into the mattress with a thump. Zexion was just finishing up the stitching in the blonde patient's tush, but was twitching occasionally.

Purely because Cloud was watching whatever he did over his shoulder, and was far too close.

The nurse liked his space. Both doctors knew that, and found it fun to make him uncomfortable. They'd once somehow schemed and got one of the other nurse's hands stuck against Zexion's arm –ah, the wonders of superglue–, and the grey-haired nurse had been reduced to heated profanities and within a hair's breadth of tears by the end of the day.

"Yes, honeybunch?" Cloud replied, turning his head to face Leon, one of his spikes brushing over Zexion's ear, making the grey-haired young man wince sharply.

"Do you think he looks like a chickenshit?" the diagnostician asked.

"Who does?" returned the oncologist interestedly.

Leon pointed at Zell. "Chickenshit."

The patient's head popped up like a daisy in spring. "Y'know," he gaped, awed. "I had a _brother_ who used to call me that!"

((This is a homage to Doctor Rondey McKay from Stargate Atlantis. I saw the episode where he was high off morphine, and I just wanted to write a scene dedicated to him anyway. I'm not too sure how many of these drabble-things there are going to be, but, I'm pretty sure they'll be quite a few. But, not all of them will be humour. Anyway, this is the first time I've written Zell. Read, and enjoy!))


	4. Psittacosis

_Psittacosis_

_An infection by Chlamydia bacteria, caught from infected birds, and characterised by fever, pneumonia and headaches._

"I am compelled to wonder whether your family has a documented case of insanity like yourself."

"Oh, yeah! They'll document anything. Bills, insanity, magazines, sex-toys..."

"So, you would be called normal, then?"

"--_used_ sex-toys... Oh, my dear little _lovemuffin_, surely you've noticed by now... I'm _perfectly sane_."

Leon eyed the young man standing on the top of the step-ladder with unamused disbelief. Cloud was _not_ sane. If he was, he wouldn't be testing the laws of physics by leaning so far off the damn ladder in the first place.

Shooting out a hand, the diagnostician grabbed hold of the blonde man's ankle –the lowest thing he could reach– and yanked sharply. With a squawk, the blonde oncologist snapped upright again from leaning precariously to the side and the ladder wobbled dangerously on it's old, slightly rusty legs.

The diagnostician eyed the legs silently, his hand still grasping Cloud's pant-cuff, the blonde standing perfectly still, his blue eyes a little widened.

"You all right?" Leon asked after he'd figured that the ladder wasn't going to collapse any time soon and cause the oncologist an untimely and bloody death, looking up at the blonde man.

The oncologist let out a grunt. "Need to straighten something out." He tugged at the front of his pants. "Done." Cloud looked down at the diagnostician and a smirk spread across his face. "Should I be flattered you are concerned for my well-being?"

"No," Leon replied haughtily, dropping the blonde's ankle and letting his hand fall back to his side. "I just don't want to have you die in front of me and have to potty-train a new head of oncology."

If it were possible, Cloud's smirk widened. "Oh, Muffin! You _do_ care!"

"Pet name or no, I'll kill you myself if you don't hurry up, _Syrup_." Neither man really knew when the pet-names had appeared. Probably during a breakfast all the ways back when, and since then, Leon had turned into 'Muffin' and Cloud had turned into 'Syrup'.

They just used the pet-names because it was something to do, and fun, occasionally.

Homosexual jokes or comments on sugar-sprinkled gay sex not withstanding.

With a quiet sigh, Cloud slid down the ladder with more grace than any man should really possess, and plucked one of the marble-sized chocolate Easter-eggs from the box held in Leon's hand.

The two men were standing in an empty ward at ten in the morning, empty beds lining the walls. It was the yearly 'paediatrics Easter-egg hunt'. Usually it was the nurses hiding the eggs, but Aerith had asked the two of them to do it, because most of the nurses had gone off to spend time with their families, and the ones remaining were herding up the children.

Unwrapping the foil from the egg, the blonde flicked it into the air before grabbing a second one. Leon tilted back his head easily and opened his mouth only just enough to catch the egg between his teeth. Opening his mouth a little wider and letting the egg fall into his mouth, the diagnostician looked back at Cloud, who was chewing on his own Easter-egg and grabbing a handful of other ones.

"You have plans?" the blonde asked as he slipped some eggs under a pillow of one of the beds and dropped a few others by the skirting boards and in the draws of the dressing-table.

"Not really," Leon replied, raising his eyes to the ladder Cloud had been on– then at the rod that held the cotton screens that separated the beds; a row of shiny eggs balanced perfectly along it. If anyone looked, they'd notice them easily, and if bumped one of the screens, the eggs would fall down. Aerith had told the two guys that they should hide the eggs, but make it so it was not too hard. Leon supposed that was true. "Why do you ask?"

"I am but a lonely soul this day," Cloud replied poetically, popping another egg into his mouth and placing a few onto one of the other beds, drawing the thin sheets over them.

The diagnostician smirked. "None of the nurses will have a bar of you?"

"Bar? Yes. Candlelit dinner with family? No."

Sniggering quietly, the brunette eyed Cloud as he strolled back over, grabbing another handful of eggs. "You asking me out on a date?"

The blonde smirked and rose an eyebrow. "No. Not unless you're going to put on some nylons and heels, and tell me that you've been lying about your gender all these years."

Leon snorted and let Cloud flick another egg into his mouth. "'fraid not, no. Not while I'm sober, anyway."

The blonde looked interested. "And if you _were_ pissed?"

The diagnostician let out an undecided sound.

After an hour and the occasional bicker between them, all the eggs had been hidden –and some not-so-much hidden– and the two department-heads exited the empty ward to see some of the children sitting outside the glass doors, some toys scattered on the smooth, cold floor, IV-stands sprinkled between them.

There was a chorus of '_Hello Doctor Strife, Hello Doctor Leonhart,_' and both the doctors milled around the children, saying hello and just basically talking to the poor kids. They ranged from four to sixteen, and the severity of the reason they were in the hospital in the first place varied also, but most of them were rather critical.

A little girl held up a pair of bunny-ears to Leon and he took them, giving her a warm smile, which she returned tenfold.

Straitening back up, the ears in hand, the diagnostician tapped Cloud on the back, who had been fixing one of the boy's hats. Looking around, the oncologist was motioned to stand up, and he did.

Catching Cloud's chin with one hand, Leon used the other to slip the bunny-ears onto the oncologist's head, and positioned them just so, so that none of his spikes were squashed, and he looked dashing, _cute_, and _gay_ all at once.

"Doesn't he look nice?" Leon asked the children with a smirk, Cloud raising a hand to touch the ears curiously. There was giggling and laughter from the children, who were quite delighted at the sight of a bunny-doctor.

The nurses arrived a few minutes later with the rest of the children to find Doctor Leonhart arguing passionately with Doctor Strife, the blonde one wearing a pair of fluffy pink rabbit-ears atop his head, and the brunette had a few pastel-coloured feathers sticking out of his hair.

From what little the nurse could discern over the laughter of the children around the two doctors, they'd had a disagreement about something that included the Easter bunny, Faster Christmas, and a name, which the nurse was quite sure belonged to a porn-star who had fifty-four double-Ds and was known for walking around in nothing but a few flakes of rice stuck to her skin and clear, plastic stilettos.

"Sirs?" the nurse piped up.

Both doctors looked in her direction and their argument immediately flew out of the window as the diagnostician combed his fingers through his hair to get at the feathers, and the oncologist sent the nurse a flirtatious wink.

Ignoring her quickly-burning cheeks, the nurse ushered the other nurses over to her from down the hall and ignored the blonde man, the nurse speaking to the children heartily about the egg-hunt.

"See?" Cloud murmured as he and Leon walked down the hall, away from the commotion of children trying to find as many eggs as they could. The blonde still had his rabbit-ears on, and he glanced to the side at his brown-haired companion, to see all the feathers had been removed.

Without a thought, Cloud removed his rabbit-ears, and placed them on Leon's head.

Swatting away the diagnostician's hands, which immediately came up to remove the pink fluffy obscenity from his head, the blonde fixed the ears perfectly atop Leon's wavy brown hair and smiled. "You look dashing, Muffin."

"I'm sure I do, Syrup," sighed Leon resignedly. He didn't make a move to remove the ears. Cloud would stop him, he knew. "What were you proving before?" he asked.

"Hm?" was the oncologist's oh so astute reply.

"You said 'see?'."

"I did? _Oh!_ I _did!_ I was proving that the nurses wouldn't have anything to do with me. Like the one back there."

"Using a food metaphor, I'll explain this; You're not a delicacy, Cloud. You're just an every-day dish that the nurses like to have now and again. You're not a rare desert for holidays and celebrations. Thus, they don't have much of an interest in you during Easter and such. Just normal days. You're probably just a mushroom pizza or tuna sandwich on a scale of delicacies."

It was fascinating. Cloud had a major in psychiatry and behavioural sciences, and yet, couldn't figure out anything if it had a direct correlation to him. He could figure out what a nurse's favourite food is, her secret kinks, and even what colour underwear she was wearing just by watching her walk across the parking lot to her car, and yet, he couldn't even figure out perfectly simple details if she was reacting to _him_, or something _he_ did, or trying _not_ to react to him.

Unless, of course, they were having sex. He was good at that.

"I suppose..." hummed Cloud.

"No," huffed Leon. "It's not '_I suppose_', it's '_Oh, my yes, Leon. You are correct! I will now kill myself in my bathtub so that you may live out the rest of your life in peace!_'."

The oncologist smiled a wide, smug grin. "You're dreaming there, Muffin."

The diagnostician sighed in defeat. "Yeah, I know."

The two men found themselves a few minutes later, walking through the main area of the clinic, Leon's bunny-ears still in place. They'd decided that they'd have some lunch together an hour early at the cafe across the road, then, maybe go home, if Aerith didn't need them.

The diagnostician looked away from the roster behind the glass cabinet against the wall at the sound of an almost horrified 'oh lord' from his blonde companion.

Cloud was gaping openly at someone sitting in the clinic waiting-room, his mouth warped into what could've easily been a revolting shape, if it were not for the fact that he had the prettiest mouth in the history of men.

So, he just looked like he was displaying his pretty little oral abilities to anyone with a mouth-fetish.

Leon followed the blonde's blue gaze and the diagnostician's own grey-blue eyes fell on a person wearing a fluffy foam chicken-suit sitting on one of the chairs.

Well, fuck.

The nurse sitting behind the desk adjacent to the semi-filled waiting room looked haggled and stressed as she hurried around the desk, picking up files, putting them down, and putting them sideways too. When her eyes fell onto the two doctors in the doorway, both men felt the icy doom of Clinic Duty slam down upon their persons like an elephant's rear behind. Or the back of the elephant's front. Derrière. Posterior. Kiester. Tush. Duff. Caboose.

The nurse opened her mouth, but before she could even say a word, Leon let out a sharp cry, his hands flying to his face, before he threw himself onto Cloud and sobbed into the blonde man's chest.

The nurse blinked, staring as the blonde unhesitatingly curled his arms around the other man and murmured soothing nothings, rocking from side to side.

Cloud gave the gaping and confused nurse a quick smile, still holding the sobbing Leon in his arms.

"Chicken killed his mother," said the oncologist.

The man in the giant fluffy chicken suit shuffled into the exam room as motioned by one of the other stressed nurses.

"That costume must've upset him. I'll just take him outside, shall I?" smiled the oncologist, hands rubbing soothing circles into Leon's back as the other man shook and sobbed into the blonde's chest with as much dignity as he could muster. "The air calms him down."

The nurse nodded in very mild understanding after a long moment, her mouth hanging open in confusion, much like Cloud's own a few moments beforehand, as the oncologist lead the head of diagnostics out of the hospital and through the green garden surrounding it, murmuring soothing jibberish.

Pausing at a patch of petunias, Cloud let go of Leon, and the brown-haired man immediately straitened up, looking cool, collected, and as if that episode never happened.

"I am in awe at your acting abilities," smirked the oncologist.

With a smirk of his own, the brunette bowed gracefully.

With that, the two men walked off to the café. Anything to get out of Clinic Duty and runny noses, sprained ankles, possessive mothers and emo bastards in chicken costumes, after all.

By three in the morning, the diagnostician and oncologist were sitting on Leon's couch in his apartment, watching some re-run of a series about some guy called 'House' but not really paying attention. Both men were slightly buzzed from the brandy they'd consumed an undefined amount of time earlier, and Leon was making a pyramid out of chocolate rabbits, while Cloud was juggling Easter-eggs.

Suffice it to say, then Leon woke up half-naked sprawled in his bed, chocolate smeared over his hands and arms, Cloud sleeping contentedly beside him in just about the same condition, he was a little surprised and concerned.

When he found that his ass didn't hurt, he was less concerned, and more curious.

He found his livingroom in a complete mess, foil and squashed chocolate everywhere, and his bathroom had a tub full of melted chocolate. He woke up Cloud the moment he found the smears of sex-hotline phone numbers written in melted chocolate on his fridge.

The blonde wasn't really happy about having a block of ice dropped down the back of his boxers, and decided to express this by saying a slew of choice words in a very specific volume that it woke up everyone within quite a few blocks from there, and forced a concerned couple down the street to call the police.

((I was actually going to post this on Easter, but I couldn't do it in time, then things just kept coming up. Cloud and Leon really didn't have sex in this chapter, but, if you want to think they did, go ahead! The kinker the better. Anyway, just wanted to thank you all for your lovely reviews and remind you that not all of these will be humour! Enjoy!))


	5. Appendicitis

_Appendicitis_

_Inflammation of the vermiform appendix._

There was a knock on the office door of Squall Leonhart, Head Of Diagnostics.

"Come in."

The brown-haired man looked up from his thick textbook at the person who knocked, shiny the door opening.

Standing in the doorway was Aerith Geinsborough. She was the Dean of Medicine, and the owner of the whole Radiant Garden General Hospital. She was a beautiful woman, her soft, long brown hair pulled into a long ponytail that trailed down her spine, some stray curls bobbing about her ears and brushing against her warm skin. She always wore a different shade of pink each day, but, she somehow didn't make it look gaudy.

Her glittering, forest-green eyes fixed on Leon, her hands clasped in front of her, her golden bangles hanging from her slender wrists.

"Is there something wrong with Cloud?" she asked softly.

The statement '_something is always wrong with him_' tried to bubble up Leon's throat, but the man could tell that something was wrong, and that Aerith didn't like it when something was wrong with her hospital, or her staff. So, he kept the statement to himself.

"... Probably," the diagnostician finally answered.

Aerith watched him silently, wanting him to continue, not moving from her place.

With a quiet sigh, Leon rose from his desk and rounded it, coming to a stop in front of the polished wood, his hands slipping into his pockets. "I'm not going to help him unless he asks for it," he said, his voice a soft rumble. It would've been flat and emotionless, but Leon liked Aerith, and she he, so, he preferred to be polite and considerate to her. "That's just the way I do things with him."

"So," mumbled the Dean gently, a slender hand coming to her smooth cheek in thought, her bangles clinking musically "you'll wait until he's either in a critical condition to help him... or wait until he 'cures' himself and ignore the situation?" She wasn't patronising in any way. She was just trying to understand.

For all any of them could know, Cloud was just going through a rough spot emotionally and be back to being a manipulative flirtatious asshole tomorrow.

Leon nodded in reply. "He'll either get better or worse." Aerith looked at him. "I'm waiting for him to ask for my help."

The tiniest of warm smiles fluttered into place upon the Dean's face and it made her whole face glow. Aerith was such a beautiful, warm person. "This is all about manly pride?" she asked softly.

A smirk tugged at the diagnostician's lips.

"Yeah, you could say that."

Cloud Strife sat in the staff-room of the heads of wards –head of oncology, diagnostics, paediatrics, surgery, etc–. The blonde just sat in the most comfortable couch he could find –leather. Cloud liked leather– in the room, trying to lean back as much as he could, a cold, half-empty coffee on the table in front of him, his head leaning back against the back of the couch, bright blue eyes closed, a gentle dusting of pink over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

He had a smudge of lipstick on his cheek, a present from nurse Yuna; that was the first thing Leon noticed as he walked into the staff-room. "Here you are," the brunette sighed, placing his hands in his pockets, the door falling closed again behind him with a click.

"Looking for me?" the blonde asked, eyes still closed.

"Yes, actually." Leon sat beside the blonde, slinging one of his arms behind the back of the couch and turning to Cloud. "Geinsborough just came into my office with a petition."

One blue eye peeked open and stared at him.

"It said that all the nurses want you to stop ignoring them and have a nice big orgy down in the morgue."

Cloud smirked. "Ah, a little busy today," he smiled, eye falling closed.

Leon eyed the blonde. He never turned down sex. Joking, _or_ otherwise. He'd been acting odd for a good few days now. He really _must_ be sick.

"Maybe next week?" Cloud continued.

"Why not now?"

Cloud's eyes opened and he raised his eyebrows at Leon. "Well," he said, "it might be a little difficult. You're the head of diagnostics and I am but a lowly head of oncology. Besides, this couch hardly holds two. But, I'm game if you are."

"For the love of--" Biting his tongue, Leon stopped himself swearing. Damn evasive blonde asshole.

Clearly, that was the exact reaction the oncologist had been rooting for, and he grinned, shifting forwards and slowly heaving himself to his feet. He was slightly slower than usual, Leon noticed, and the brunette could've sworn he saw an expression of pain flicker across Cloud's face before the blonde straitened up and turned away.

The diagnostician caught the blonde by the back of the coat just before he got out of reach and turned the other man around. No look of pain was on Cloud's face, and Leon quickly stood up and scrubbed at the lipstick on the blonde's cheek with a tissue as the reason for his stopping the oncologist, instead of checking the man's medical health.

Batting Leon's hand away half-heartedly, Cloud gave the other man a disbelieving, yet almost neutral look, before turning around and pulling the door open, slipping back into the semi-noisy hall, leaving the diagnostician in the staff-room.

Yep. Cloud was ill.

Dropping the smudged-rouge tissue into the bin beside the mini-bar, Leon sighed.

He'd learnt to read the other man better than he'd like to say over the years of their friendship-not-quite-friendship-but-rivalry-slash-adversary-and-sort-of-attempted-murder, and he'd found that the blonde didn't like to be touched when he was sick, and he was always lethargic when he was.

Running a hand through his hair, the diagnostician decided to leave the blonde to his own devices, and not intervene until or _if_ he asks for help.

Leon kept his thoughts on the matter to himself for a week.

He never made a mention to the other man that he noticed twitches that shot through Cloud's body, the fact that he was constantly sweating lightly, his fever, or even the fact that numerous nurses had come up to the diagnostician saying that the head of oncology had completely ignored their many advances and asked if it was because of their new shampoo or perfume, or if they'd done something wrong to upset him.

Cloud hid his sickness well, no one in the hospital noticing that he was ill beside Aerith and Leon themselves. The diagnostician was pretty sure he knew what the blonde was sick from, but he needed more symptoms to prove it.

Leon was strolling past one of the men's toilets when he heard a foul retching sound.

The oncologist was emptying his stomach; bowing to the porcelain God, as the saying goes. The blonde man took no notice of Leon, who just entered the bathroom and came to stand in the doorway of the cubical, shoulder against the cold plastic as Cloud retched again, the remains of his barely-digested lunch splashing into the toilet.

His stomach was empty now.

That didn't stop his body from retching again.

"Hangover," Cloud grunted as he spat the yellow, burning bile from his mouth, the layer of the acid making his throat sear.

_Liar._ "... Right," said Leon, crossing his arms over his chest, watching the other man.

The next few minutes passed in mutual silence except the occasional retch and gag from the oncologist, hunched over the toilet, his face hidden from the brunette, who watched the back of his golden head with an impassive mask.

There was a musical beep, and the diagnostician recognised the sound of a new message arriving on the blonde's pager. Cloud didn't do anything that even hinted that he'd heard it, or even if he wanted to see the message anyway.

Taking a step forward and standing between the blonde's bent legs, Leon leant over the oncologist and bunched the man's doctor's-coat into his fist and trailed the fingers of his other hand along Cloud's belt for the plastic paging machine he couldn't see.

"Dinner and a drink first, mate," Cloud croaked into the toilet as the diagnostician's fingers brushed his belt-buckle.

"You wish." Plucking the pager from Cloud's pocket, Leon dropped the blonde's coat and placed his hand on the wall before of him, leaning further over the other man, holding the gadget in front of the blonde's bowed head so that he could see the message.

Glancing up from the swirl of colours under him that were making him more nauseous than he actually was, blue eyes looked at the message before Cloud promptly snorted and let his head fall back down, leaning his hot forehead against the cool porcelain.

Pushing himself back from the wall so that he was standing instead of leaning, the diagnostician looked at the screen of the pager and he took a moment to understand what was being said; before his eyebrows twitched upwards.

All that really came to mind was '... _damn._'

There was a quiet grunt from the blonde hunched over the toilet. Clipping Cloud's pager beside his own, the diagnostician watched as one of the blonde's hands slipped up and pressed the flush button as the blonde straitened up stiffly.

With a sigh, the oncologist just sat there; posture atrocious, his hunched back leaning slightly against Leon's knees, his arms just hanging limply by his sides, his bowed.

The two of them just stayed like that for a while.

"... Can you help me up?"

That was not the plea for help Leon wanted, but he complied anyway. If Cloud was willing to let the diagnostician touch him when he was sick, he was definitely in a bad way.

Carefully, Leon knelt behind the other man and slipped his arms around the oncologist's middle. His right palm 'accidentally' pushed into what he knew was Cloud's left iliac fossa, the inner part of his left hip, and immediately the blonde's head snapped back, stiff, inhaling sharply through his clenched teeth.

The diagnostician's hand withdrew from the other man's hip and curled around his middle, as though it was an honest mistake –which it could've been, if it hadn't been done on purpose– and Leon ignored how Cloud had gone very stiff in his arms from the sudden stab of pain the blonde had just received, his spiky hair ticking at at the brunette's neck and cheek as he heaved him to his feet.

Cloud had appendicitis. Leon knew that now. Fever, abdominal pain, vomiting, pain from palpitation of the right iliac fossa. Textbook appendicitis.

_Dammit, you stubborn bastard,_ thought Leon._ Ask for fucking help._

But, Cloud didn't. He just very slowly and stiffly removed himself from being pressed against the diagnostician's chest and curled an arm around his stomach, his breathing harsh and shallow.

Moving out of the cubical, Leon let Cloud pass him, the blonde walking stiffly over to the sinks and going about washing his mouth out without bending over that much, one arm still curled around his middle. After he'd washed his mouth out, Cloud turned away and walked to the door, giving the diagnostician a slight, awkward twitch of the arm –maybe a wave– before pulling the door open and disappearing without even a glance.

Leon just stood there for a while, his fingers dragging over the blonde's pager which was still clipped to his belt.

It was just after midnight when the door to Cloud Strife's apartment swung open. Leon stood there in the doorway, tugging the key out of the door-handle and placing it back into his pocket, grey-blue eyes glancing around the room before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

Cloud's apartment was cluttered, but in a homey, lived-in way. Everything seemed to have a place, and had, quite intentionally, been moved from said place to a different one. The living-room was filled with a fold-out couch, a couple of recliners, a coffee-table, a nice big TV, and three of the four walls were covered in books. The kitchen, connected to the living-room by an archway, was shiny and filled with clean, stainless steel and marble, and, down the hall, the rest of the rooms were there.

Strolling down the hall, Leon glanced into Cloud's bedroom to find the bed perfectly made and empty; then the laundry, empty, and just as he advanced on the bathroom door, an agonised groan floated through the air.

Turning the golden handle, the brunette let the door fall open and it revealed Cloud slumped over the toilet again, his back to the diagnostician, one hand clutching his hair, the other arm stiffly placed over his stomach.

"Need help?" Leon prompted, slipping his hands into his pockets.

There was a moment of stiff silence.

"... How do you have my key?"

"From last august, remember?" Leon murmured. They'd stole casts of each-other's keys and went about booby-trapping each-other's apartments and writing things on each-other's sleeping bodies with permanent pens. Civilised? No. Fun? Yes.

That august was complete and utter hell, but it was almost worth it to see Cloud come into work with little flowers and hearts drawn with little glittery swirls over his skin –courtesy of yours truly and a sedative–. True, the blonde had played it up with the nurses that he liked the designs, but the moment Leon found himself alone with the man in the staff-room, Cloud had a scalpel clutched in one hand and a really rusty metal thing in the other that the brunette really didn't want to know about.

There was a quiet snort from Cloud as he remembered back to that month, his fingers kneading at his golden spikes. "Oh, yeah... You ever get that dye out of your suits?"

"_No_," sighed the brunette. "That colour was permanent."

"Lovely shade of pink, though."

"Geinsborough thought so."

A sharp retch drowned out the last half of Leon's short sentence and he eyed the other man, who groaned, head bowed, in obvious agony. "Hangover again?" he asked. He knew the blonde was lying. He just wanted Cloud to _ask for help_.

It was a pity doctors made the worst patients.

"Morning sickness," the blonde deadpanned.

A smirk tugged at the diagnostician's lips. Strolling over and clipping Cloud's stolen pager onto one of his golden spikes, Leon patting the other man on the head lightly before letting his hand fall to his side.

"Can I stay over until your water breaks?"

The blonde tugged the gadget out of his hair, a few golden hairs parting company with his scalp. Staring at the small machine for a few moments, Cloud let his eyes fall back down to the messy swirl of bile-laced vomit below him. He was a doctor, as was Leon, so, the smell went unnoticed by them, but the colour made Cloud feel even more nauseous.

"... Sure," nodded the oncologist finally, swallowing thickly. Leon just wanted to keep an eye on him, and Cloud was grateful. "You can share my bed, if you want," he added with a smirk, finally glancing up at the other man standing over him.

Snickering, the diagnostician shook his head and wandered back out of the bathroom, hands in his pockets, intent on getting his small bag of clean clothes from his car, which was parked outside. "I'll take the couch."

The night was uneventful. Leon slept on the fold-out couch and forced himself to wake up every half-hour to check on the blonde. Sometimes the blonde was asleep, curled into a tight ball on his bed, a pained frown on his face, and sometimes he was hunched over the toilet and throwing up what little his empty stomach could offer.

At seven in the morning, a little more tired than he'd like, Leon awoke to find Cloud sprawled on his side on the bathroom floor, his temple pressed against the tiles.

Dropping to the blonde's side, he placed his fingers to the blonde's neck.

"Fuck off," was the feeble, throaty reply. "It's nice and cold."

Leon sighed. He really didn't know why. "You _bastard_."

Perfectly still on the floor, Cloud let out a quiet grunt. "Don't think so. I'm pretty sure I'm legitimate. My parents had rings."

Rolling his eyes, Leon grabbed one of the hand-towels, wetted it under the tap, and placed it over the blonde's considerably flushed forehead, also covering his eyes too, since he didn't feel a need to fold it.

"After I have my shower, we're going to work, got it?" stated the diagnostician, standing up and already pulling off his shirt. He didn't want to move Cloud just yet. He'd just cause the blonde man unnecessary pain, and the bastard would probably whine non-stop anyway.

"Aye aye," sighed Cloud. "Can you roll me over?" he smirked. He had his back to the shower.

Even with the cloth covering his eyes, Cloud could tell that Leon was glaring at him. Humming a breathy jazz tune which was often used for strip-clubs as he heard the clothes coming off and being folded, the blonde was quite sure that Leon would've kicked him right now if he wasn't in so much pain anyway.

The blonde stayed in his position on the floor all through the diagnostician's shower, perfectly still, trying not to breathe too much, because of the pulsating, burning pain that was charring his insides.

"The nurses are worried about you. You haven't bedded any of them for a while," Leon piped up after he stepped out of the shower, towel already rubbing at his skin. The blonde probably didn't go about his '_activities_' with the nurses because of the pain. Not many of them were gentle, Leon guessed.

Cloud smirked. "How do you know so much about my sex-life, dear Leon?" he let out a curious, breathy hum. "I'm all up for exhibitionism, but really. If you wanted to watch, all you needed to do was say so, and I would've let you take the front row."

"Shut. Up." was the stiff, hiss-like reply.

The diagnostician got dressed again quickly, and was kneeling in front of the other man again, pulling the warm cloth off his face and dropping it in the sink, the cloth catching on Cloud's pager and making the small machine clink against the smooth white porcelain from where it was sitting.

Carefully, he rolled the blonde onto his back and Cloud's face contorted into one of complete agony. Leon was just gathering the blonde in his arms when the blonde went completely limp.

Alarms in the diagnostician's head flew into action a millisecond beforehand, and the brunette had already yanked the blonde's phone out of the other man's pocket –Cloud had learnt the hard way to keep his phone with him at all times–. Leon was glad that the first number on Cloud's speed-dial was their hospital. He didn't think that an automated sex-hotline knew anything about bursting appendixes.

Four hours later, the diagnostician was playing solitaire on his desk, trying to keep his mind busy.

A split second later, the cards were thrown through the air and they fluttered to the floor like white feathers.

To say the _least_, Leon's mind wasn't busy enough.

There was a knock on the door and Leon wrenched it open before the person could knock a second time.

Standing there was Cid Highwind. A grouchy old bastard, chain-smoker, and pilot and mechanic in his spare time. His short blonde hair was messy, his suit was crumpled and had a grease-stain on it, his skin was burnt a dark tan, and in place of his usual cigarette, a metal pin had taken up residence between his lips.

"The bastard's alive," Cid said before Leon could even ask, stuffing his hands in his pockets, the pin in his mouth wiggling. Cid was the head surgeon of the Radiant Garden General Hospital. He was just 'good with his hands', he said.

"He awake?" Leon asked.

"An' pukin' his guts out, yeah," agreed the smoker flatly. The diagnostician winced. Cloud was allergic to the local anaesthetic. It made him throw up. Leon thought the blonde oncologist had done enough vomiting to last him a lifetime.

"Go see him an' stop that pussy-ass whinin', ya poof," huffed the surgeon, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the elevators before turning on his heel and shuffling away.

Leon didn't bother telling Cid that he wasn't gay, and just hurried to the elevators as well as he could without _looking_ like he was hurrying.

Cloud was on his side in his own room, his chin hanging over the edge of the bed, a bucket sitting on a small chair directly beneath his mouth.

"There were symptoms of acute appendicitis. Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Leon snapped as he wrenched the door open, walked in, and slammed the door closed again behind him.

Blue eyes didn't even glance up from the half-full bucket they were staring at. "I was taking on the age-old practice of ignoring it to see if it'd go away," Cloud replied in a tired, half-dead manner.

" . . . You idiotic little shit," was the brunette's reply as he sat on the uncomfortably hard mattress, sitting just by the blonde's legs.

A smirk. "Says the guy who got his face slashed open by a psychotic mother."

The diagnostician rose a cold finger and poked it into Cloud's ear. He was granted with a shocked squeak, causing the blonde to immediately groan and curl his arms around his middle. "Don't make me do that again...!" he groaned. His stitches were strained enough as it was.

Snickering quietly, Leon filed away the blonde's incompetence with self-care and slipped his hands into his pockets as he eyed the man. After a moment, he decided to cheer the downcast and pained oncologist up. The poor guy deserved it. Anyway, Leon could lecture his ass later.

"The nurses said they'd kiss it better."

A wide grin spread across Cloud's face at once.

((This one was in my mind the moment I thought of doing a sequel to Doctor Doctor. And, ohmygawd, yes. This is one of the not-so-much-humour chapters. There's another one coming up, but I don't want it to be directly after this one... I like doing banter between Leon and Cloud. I really don't know why. Anyway, sorry for spamming your emails with updates! Enjoy!))


	6. Attention Deficit Disorder

_Attention Deficit Disorder_

_A childhood syndrome characterised by a short attention span, often accompanied by hyperactivity and disruptive behaviour._

Leon banged heartily against the door of Cloud's apartment, teeth gritted. God, they were late, and he was pretty sure he knew what the bastard blonde was doing. The ass of a little _fucker!_

There was the sound of struggling and stumbling from the other side of the shiny wooden door and a slightly ruffled Cloud Strife pulled it open, his hair almost impossibly messy. He wore nothing but a pair of black silk boxer-shorts, which looked like they were only just pulled on a second ago.

They probably had.

"We're late," Leon snapped before the blonde could say anything.

"Late?" Cloud asked, poking his head out of the doorway and looking around the deserted hall before retreating again.

"Yes, _late_," growled the diagnostician. "The poker tournament? Fundraiser for the hospital? _Ring any bells?_"

One blue eye squinted closed a little as the files in the back of the blonde's head were rifled through. "A bell, yes," Cloud said after a moment. "A little bell, but a bell none the less."

"_Well_," said Leon in a forcibly calm manner, his voice cold and icy. "I am going to give you ten minutes to get your 'affairs' in order--" Cloud let out a squawk. Clearly, the oncologist didn't think that was enough time, but the brunette just spoke over him harshly. "-- and on the tenth minute, if you're not done, I'm going to come in there and tell whoever or _whatever_ you're with that you have a mutated strain of the bubonic plague that infects on skin-on-skin contact."

"Now listen here--" the oncologist began quickly, raising a finger. Was he panicked? ... Just a little.

Leon just looked at his watch calmly. "Nine minutes and fifty seven seconds... Fifty six... Fifty _five_..."

With the sound of a strangled goose with a hernia, Cloud yanked himself out of the doorway, slammed the door shut, and by the scuffles and thumps of hurrying and a few things falling over, he was going to try to get things done in ten minutes.

The diagnostician just stood in front of the closed door, one arm leaning against the wall beside it, watch at eye-level.

It was nine in the evening, the stars were out, and Leon was wearing a tuxedo.

Not one of those really over-done ones with the ruffles and tails; just a sleek black one with a bow tie. Aerith had planned a little poker tournament for the hospital, taking place in the large ballroom-sized room overlooking the hospital gardens. It was all for the people in Radiant Garden, patient's families; anyone of age with money, who can dress accordingly, really.

Aerith had asked that all the doctors be there, and it started at eight thirty. Half an hour ago.

Leon had been busy: his landlord having had a bit of trouble with her shopping, and he'd helped her. Her door had 'accidentally' '_jammed_', and Leon had been stuck in her room until she'd figured-- hey! It might just be locked!

That didn't stop his landlord from groping him and claiming he should stay the night, of course. The diagnostician quickly said that he needed to be somewhere and got the hell out of there. He wasn't looking for a relationship. Or even ready for one. There was only one person he felt was right for him, but she was far away right now.

Ten minutes after his treat, the blonde hadn't come out, and Leon opened Cloud's door and walked in, arms dropping to his sides. Steeling himself for the worst, the diagnostician walked straight down the hall and pushed the bedroom door open.

Two young women lay on Cloud's bed, looking quite comfortable.

One was a blonde Leon knew as Quistis Trepe from accounting. She wore nothing but some lacy lingerie and stockings. At the sight of the diagnostician in the doorway, the long-haired blonde quickly grabbed some of the silk sheets around her and covered herself with a very apologetic look.

The other woman on the bed, Leon didn't know, but he liked her anyway. The fact that she wasn't wearing anything covering her top-half and was clad in some knee-high leather stilettos, and what seemed to be half-seethough underwear had nothing to do with it, of course.

At the sight of Leon, the strange woman gave him a quick wink and he cleared his throat quietly, averting his eyes.

"Going to join us?" she asked.

Leon blinked at her, then looked at Quistis, who looked quite enthralled with the idea.

"For the love of _God_, man!" came a sharp bark behind the diagnostician, which made him turn around. Cloud stood behind him in the bathroom doorway, wearing tuxedo-pants and half-buttoned dress-shirt as he fingered his damp spikes of blonde hair into the correct style. "You could've _told_ me you wanted in."

"I don't," Leon snapped as he let the oncologist pass him, the blonde gently extracting his bow-tie from a rather possessive Quistis. The new woman in the stilettos pouted at the diagnostician, quite upset at his statement. "I just want to get this poker tournament over with."

"Whatever you say," hummed Cloud, buttoning up the rest of his shirt and placing the tie around his neck.

It took another seven minutes to get the oncologist _out_ of his apartment, since the two women on the bed had their own ideas on what he should be doing –which included Leon, no matter what he said–, and eventually the brunette was able to stumble out of the building, a firm grip on the blonde's spiky hair, and yank the other into his car and let the roar of the engine distract Cloud from what he _could_ be doing with Quistis and whatshername.

Leon's car was just a beautiful, sleek black thing with a tinge of teal across the paintwork. Convertible, when he wanted it to be, and the brunette often got compliments daily about the condition of the vehicle. Cloud didn't have a car. He just had one of the most beautiful motorbikes imaginable. The two men were fond of their vehicles, to say the least.

The sleek car sped down the dark roads, one of Leon's hands –both clad in leather gloves– on the wheel, while his other was just placed on the door beside him. The top was down, so cold the air whipped in his hair. It was refreshing. Cloud was beside him, trying to style his hair back to it's usual splendour despite the wind and Leon's previous manhandling.

"I had to stop half-way through because of you, _jackass_," the blonde snapped as the diagnostician parked in front of the hospital, the top of the car moving back into place.

"That so?" Leon asked with a barely controlled smirk as he locked his door.

The oncologist glared silently at the brunette over the roof, and took his revenge by _slamming his door_. The horrified look that immediately took over the diagnostician's face was more than enough to cheer the blonde up immensely.

The poker tournament was a hit, apparently; full of posturing gits and rich blowhards, as well as the occasional person who actually _did_ want to give some money to the hospital. The two doctors entering –after Leon fixed the wrinkles in his and Cloud's tuxes– immediately noticed Aerith standing near one of the tables, a class of water in hand, watching the goings-on curiously. She wore a beautiful silk dress, pink, of course. It was simple, but she looked absolutely lovely.

Coming up behind the Dean, Cloud slipped his arms around her middle and gave her a peck on the cheek. Aerith let out a squeak of surprise, and the moment she knew it was him, have one of his hands a light, good-natured slap, a sweet little flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Sorry we're late," Leon murmured to Aerith as he came up beside her, Cloud still standing with his arms around her middle; taking up his time by nuzzling the side of her neck, her flush darkening ever so slightly.

"Oh, it's perfectly all right," smiled the Dean warmly. She let out another squeak soon after, at something Cloud did with his mouth to the skin just behind her ear. "Please!" she hissed urgently.

"I don't need to be told twice," said the blonde, and went about being a bit more lewd.

"I didn't mean that!" gasped Aerith, slipping out of his arms easily and giving him a playful shove, a smile glowing on her features. "We're in public! Anyway, I'm... otherwise occupied."

"I can see that," smirked Leon. The lady blinked at him, and he rose a hand, touching a cool finger on a very faint and small bruise just under the Dean's jaw. With a gasp, Aerith clapped a hand over the hickey and flushed crimson.

"You _sultry minx!_" grinned the oncologist. The diagnostician's own smirk widened too.

With a flush that could light up the universe, Aerith shooed the two men away and hurried away into the crowd herself.

The blonde and brunette eventually found themselves playing poker in their own special way.

Cloud couldn't play against anyone because he couldn't put pieces together if someone was reacting to something he did, despite his major is psychiatry and behavioural sciences, but he liked to contribute. So, Leon and he had figured out their own little way for him to play without really having to make an ass out of himself.

Leon sat at the table, sipping his whiskey, two cards face-down in front of him, a small mound of chips in front of him too. Cloud stood behind the brunette, leaning over his chair, sipping at his martini as he watched everything unfold behind the other man.

It was the diagnostician's turn to call, raise or fold, and the blonde's finger dragged down his spine lethargically, pushing into two ridges. With a sigh, Leon placed his whiskey down and pushed his mound of chips into the centre.

Loopholes were such lovely things.

Eventually, the two of them stopped playing, halving the money between them and taking up two seats by the bar. Leon sipped at his whiskey as Cloud asked for another martini with a wink to the pretty nurse serving them. She flushed a strawberry pink and handed him his drink, as well as a scrap of paper with her phone number and address on it.

"Hm," hummed the flirtatious oncologist, dipping the olive impaled on the toothpick into his drink a couple of times before holding the small fruit out to Leon's mouth in between his slender fingers. The brunette took the offered food in between his teeth and rose his eyebrows at the blonde in question before removing the toothpick and chewing on the olive. Cloud didn't like olives.

"Just wondering if we'll ever meet Aerith's mystery-lover," shrugged the blonde, sipping his martini.

Leon smirked. "Jealous?"

The brunette got a light kick in the shin. "I want to know their _gender_, Muffin."

"Aah," nodded the diagnostician. "Threesomes. 'course."

The nurse behind the bar eyed the two men with a look caught between curiosity and lust before being called away.

There was a light tap on Leon's shoulder and he looked around, the blonde beside him looking in that direction too. Aerith stood there, her hands clasped in front of herself, a dusting of pink across her cheeks and bridge of her nose.

"I heard you," she said smoothly, giving Cloud a quick amused look. The blonde just rose his eyebrows, smirk spreading across his smooth lips. "He just arrived, if you want to meet him," she added with a smile.

He. Bugger. Thought Cloud.

"Certainly," smiled Leon, twisting on his seat to stand, picking up his glass of whiskey. "We'd love to meet him."

The two doctors were herded from the bar and over to the open front doors, shiny white tiles morphing into soft green grass as they entered the small picnic area, a love-seats, hammock, and a few chairs and tables scattered around.

"What's his name?" the diagnostician asked as Aerith looked around the garden, her date obviously having wandered off.

"_Zack!_" she called into the garden. "Zack, darling!"

Cloud blinked. "I knew a Zack..." he mumbled to himself.

The diagnostician looked at him. "Really?"

"Yeah," agreed the oncologist. "Met him in highschool. Nice guy. We were friends. I doubt it's him, thoug--"

Irony decided to hurtle out from behind a rosebush and slam into Cloud's chest, keeling him strait over with a high-pitched squeal of "_SPIIIIKE!_".

Both Aerith and Leon blinked down at the stunned blonde, who was sprawled on the ground, another person on top of him, obviously delighted to see the other man. "Spike! It's been _ages!_" they babbled. "Your hair looks different! A little shorter. Kinda. Hey, you look good! Taller, a little cuter, yeah. Not as cute as _me_, though! I didn't know you worked here! Waddiya know! Funky coincidence, eh!"

Cloud stared up at this over-enthusiastic person and was only just able to croak a "Oh... Hi, Zack..." before said person sprang off him, wrenched him to his feet, before promptly shooting over to Aerith, nearly making the blonde keel over again if it wasn't for Leon grabbing a hold of Cloud's collar to keep him balanced.

Both Leon and Cloud stared silently at Zack, who was now complimenting Aerith on her dress, making the lady blush a pretty rosy colour. Zack's hair was black and spiky; but nearly all of the spikes were directed backwards, so, it wasn't so much a stylish yet chaotic mess as Cloud's, but just a stylish mess.

Apparently, nothing else in the world existed to the Dean and her partner, because the diagnostician and oncologist were left standing there, watching them, for a good ten minutes before Cloud decided he needed to sit down.

Leon found himself playing tetris on his phone at two in the morning, sitting on the love-seat in the picnic area of the hospital, a glass of brandy balanced on one knee. Cloud sat beside him, leaning his back nearly completely against the brunette's side, his head pillowed by Leon's shoulder, gold spikes ticking at the diagnostician's ear as he turned his glass of vodka around in his fingers.

The poker tournament had been won by some rich bastard, and the money had been donated to the hospital, but people were still hanging around, talking, and trying to get laid.

"Um... This kind of reminded me of you... So, I thought you should have it..."

Both the oncologist and diagnostician looked up at this timid sentiment, and from their places on the love-seat, they could, quite clearly, see Zack and Aerith standing in a small clearing in the garden. The darker-haired young man had his hand outstretched toward the beautiful lady, holding out a single, pearl-white tulip.

Aerith took the flower with supple fingers, her smile making her whole being glow. Quickly ducking forward, she gave Zack a peck on the cheek that made his face light up like a lantern.

Smiling and going back to what they were doing, Cloud and Leon just let the two lovebirds have their privacy.

... Not.

With a click of his phone, Cloud had some photos of the exchange, and Leon soon had his own. They could blame it on drunkenness in the morning– _after_ they'd sent them to the nurses, who'd give them to the doctors, who'd show some of the patients, who'd mention it to the nurses a few days later, who'd remember, and promptly yank Aerith out of the hospital for a make-over and shopping.

Sighing and slipping his phone back into his pocket, Cloud shifted his head slightly on Leon's shoulder, making his spikes insistently irritate at the brunette's skin. He felt kind of tired. Time to go back home, maybe.

"What?" asked the diagnostician at the ticking feeling against his ear. High score! Oh, _fuck_ yes!

Cloud turned around and slung an arm around the brunette's neck. "Either you take me home or to a strip-bar in the next fifteen minutes, or I'll suddenly have the undeniable notion you have some unresolved feelings for me."

They were in the diagnostician's car in less than four minutes, and Cloud was stumbling into his apartment-complex less than six minutes after that.

"I feel cold and _unwanted!_" Cloud yelled at the parking lot.

A roar of an engine is all he really got in reply, and the blonde vaguely felt that, translated, it would've meant some really foul words that had something to do with the family dog and his mother.

((I thought I should add Zack in. I have a thing for tetris, so, I added that bit in. A quick hint of a future chapter in this one. You have no idea how amusing I found writing the start of this chapter. Read and enjoy!))


	7. Concussion

_Concussion_

_A violent collision or shock._

The piercing tone of a soon-to-be-dismantled mobile phone shrieked from less than an arm's length away from a very sensitive pair of eardrums.

"OH GOD _FUCK!_" screamed the owner of said eardrums, having been awoken very suddenly and very rudely by aforementioned shrieking ringing, from a rather nice dream that involved whipped cream, strawberries and a naked back.

With a sharp slap sideways, the person who had been sleeping moments ago got a shot of pain up their arm the moment their wrist came suddenly in contact with the sharp edge of the bedside table. They groped around on the piece of furniture for a moment, while the shrieking noise continued, before they grabbed the phone, weighed the pros and cons of throwing it against the wall, and pressed 'answer' and placed it against their ear.

"Leonhart here. The fuck do you want?"

With a shuddering yawn, Leon rubbed a hand over his face, glancing blearily through his fingers at his clock, which was glowing bright green numbers at him smugly. Twelve past three in the morning.

"_Oh, Doctor Leonhart,_" came the voice of one of the nurses who did the night-shift, dwindling panic laced in her voice, making the male stare up at the ceiling, his consciousness disentangling itself from sleep. "_A bus turned over on the highway a while ago; we saw no need to call you- the doctors here could handle it, but there's something I thought you should know..._"

Leon was silent, scratching at his neck, grey-blue eyes on the ceiling.

"_Doctor Strife was in the crash._"

"Was he on his bike?" the diagnostician asked immediately, voice sharp.

"... _Uh, no. He was in the bus._"

A deep sigh flew from Leon's lips and his eyes slid closed. "Good. You calling me to come and look after him?"

"_Yes please, Doctor Leonhart. He's getting a little rambunctious. None of us can handle him. He just does what he wants._"

With a sigh that sounded thoroughly dissatisfied with the world, existence, and _even God_, Leon heaved himself out of bed and nodded. "Right, I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"_I'll try to keep him at bay until then. Thank you!_"

Having been dragged out of bed at ungodly hours before, the diagnostician just got out of bed and got dressed in mildly irritated silence, slipping on just some casual clothing -leather pants, white shirt, leather jacket, boots- before shuffling out of his apartment and making his way to his car.

He was at the hospital in ten minutes, and walked in- the hospital looking more or less like an ice-cube with a light under it; all the lights that were on in the hospital, shining on it's surroundings.

"Hey," Leon sighed tapping a finger on the nurse's station in the waiting area, Nurse Rikku looking up from her half-finished comic-book with slightly dazed eyes. "I'm here to see Strife. Which room is he in?"

Rikku scratched at her slightly messy head of blonde hair before she blinked, flicking through some papers in front of her.

"Uuh... Oh. Room D-sixteen, Doctor," said the pretty nurse, giving the doctor a sugary-sweet smile, despite her fatigue.

With a quick nod in thanks, the diagnostician passed the nurse station and walked to the elevators. Just as the doors whizzed open, Rikku called back at him from her desk.

"You should leave your doctor's coat at home more often! Those pants show off your ass _real_ _nice!_" The call was topped off with a wolf-whistle.

Leon found himself at the door of room D-sixteen a few moments later. He slid it open to see an _empty room_.

"What the--"

"_FUCK!_"

Whipping around, the diagnostician saw, a little down the hall, the one he was looking for: Cloud stood there, in the usual patient-garb –basically something only slightly more tasteful than pyjamas–, with that looked like the remains of a cheap plastic cup of coffee strewn all over the floor in front of him.

"Don't swear in the middle of the night. It's rude to whoever you wake up," Leon stated, slipping his hands into his pockets and raising an eyebrow at the other man.

The oncologist glanced up and grinned. "Oh, perfect timing, sweetheart," he smiled. "Clean this up, won't you?" he asked, pointing at the coffee.

"I'm not a maid. I don't clean up your shit," stated the brunette, walking over and standing at the edge of the brown, liquid mess.

"Really? So, those pictures you let me take were under mere pretence?" The flirtatious blonde put on his best '_you disappoint me, but I'll forgive you if we can have some hot and heavy sex_'-pout.

Leon gave the oncologist the finger.

Cloud smirked. "That's the idea, sweetheart."

Rolling his eyes, the diagnostician grabbed the blonde's arm, steered him around the puddle of coffee, and lead him back toward his hospital room.

"On a gurney? If you think so," shrugged the flirtatious oncologist sweetly.

After pushing the blonde onto the bed and taking up a seat at the end of it, the brunette eyed Cloud. He had a few cuts and bruises on his face and arms, but he otherwise looked fine. The blonde took that moment to turn and settle himself on the bed, and Leon saw a long, thick line of scar-tissue spanning over the blonde's left arm.

"Still hasn't faded?"

Cloud glanced down at the scar on his arm. It basically took up a good third of his arm. He always hid it with sleeves and things, but the patient-garb didn't have long sleeves. Blue eyes quickly looked away from it.

"Not going to say anything?" Leon prompted.

The oncologist just looked at him, face blank.

"Don't pull the psychological selective mutism shit on me, Strife," the brunette snapped. "You went one-on-one with a truck. You _have to_ talk about it sometime." It'd been quite a few years since that crash. Cloud had lost control of his motorbike on a wet road and crashed into a truck that was moving scrap-metal. He got more than a scar on the arm –a few pieces of the metal went straight through his abdomen and one even went through his right shoulder–, but he had said nothing about it. Ever.

Sliding under the covers, the blonde lay on his side and threw the covers over his head.

"I'm still _here_," Leon sang dryly. The nurse wanted him to keep an eye on Cloud. So, he will.

One hand slipped from under the covers and gave the diagnostician the finger before sliding back under.

"What happened with the bus?"

Blue eyes stared blankly at the underside of the covers. "The driver had a heart-attack." Cloud grunted. "Probably all those bags of chips he ate. He panicked. Gas pedal went down, hands jerked, and whoosh. The bus was doing cartwheels."

"How many passengers?" Leon asked, settling himself a little more comfortably on the end of the bed, one leg hanging off either side.

"Seven."

"Injuries?"

"One girl got a pole shoved through her spine. She died. A kid –five years old, maybe– he was asleep. The nurses said he got some severe internal bruising. They're getting him stable. The woman he was with--"

"I meant _you_," Leon interrupted.

The silence rang in both their ears as the oncologist under the covers just stared blankly at the white covers before dragging his eyes closed. "It's on my clip-board," he finally murmured. He never spoke of his crash-injuries, Leon had noticed.

"I know," shrugged the diagnostician. "I thought it'd be better if I asked you."

The oncologist was suddenly sitting up, glaring with all his unadulterated, unholy loathing. "I survived another crash! What is it to you?! Why are you _so damn interested?!_" he snarled. Defensive, now.

The diagnostician frowned. "Survived?"

"Yes, _survived_, faggot!" Cloud snapped, eyes bright with burning fury. "Just leave me the _fuck_ alone! I don't _need_ this!" Angry.

"Yes you do," stated Leon flatly.

"HOW THE _FUCKING HELL _DO YOU KNOW _WHAT I NEED?!_" screamed the blonde. A few people were definitely waking up from that one.

"I've got a shiny gold 'Dr' in front of my name on my office door," said the oncologist blandly. He wasn't fond on getting yelled at, but Cloud just about never expressed his true feelings. Leon knew that. "And I've got a 'MD' on the end."

"GET THE _FUCK OUT OF HERE!_" screamed the oncologist, face red. "_LEAVE!_"

"I don't think so," shrugged Leon.

Cloud's mouth opened, no doubt to scream more, but he stopped, the pure fury on his face slowly morphing into strange confusion. A frown was on his face, his teeth raking over his cut lip, blue eyes not exactly looking at Leon, and blinking a few too many times.

One of the oncologists hands, which had been holding onto the sheets around him until the knuckles were white, rose slowly to the side of his face, almost trembling, before it was held in front of his face.

Blood was smeared on his fingertips, and more of the precious liquid dribbled down the side of his face.

Leon swore, jumping off the bed to the blonde's side, grabbing hold of the short blonde hairs at the base of his skull, blood continuing to stream out of the oncologist's ear and down his neck.

"Calling a nurse right about now would be nice," Cloud whispered in a faint voice, eyes dragging closed before snapping open again.

"Oh, I don't know," murmured Leon, jabbing the 'nurse' button by the bed a few times. "I think I'll just let you bleed." he said sweetly.

"I can barely hear you," said the oncologist simply.

"An ear canal full of blood will do that."

"What?"

"I SAID YOUR MOTHER WAS GOOD IN BED."

"Really? Good on her. Pity she's dead."

"I know. Believe me."

"And here I thought you weren't a necrophiliac. Silly me."

A nurse chose that moment to meander in. "Yes, Doctor Strife?"

Leon ignored how her skirt was short enough for him to see her black silk panties and the fact that she was staring at his blonde colleague like he was quite a delicious piece of meat. Which, he probably _was_, in men-standards. "Strife is bleeding profusely from his ear. Mind scheduling an O.R.?"

The nurse squeaked, finally seeing the bright red liquid that was now staining the blonde's shirt. "Yes, Doctor!" And, she hurried back out of the room with a little girly flail.

"I think I know how women feel now," said the blonde after a moment of blank staring at the wall, the diagnostician beside him pressing a reddening wad of tissues against his ear as hard as he dared, trying to stop the bleeding.

"How so?" Leon asked, swapping for a clean wad of tissues.

"Uncontrollable bleeding from an orifice."

"Oh. Right. You have a vagina for an ear. Lovely."

"And you are currently trying to stem said blood-flow. Are you going to ask me to marry you if I get pregnant?"

"Shut up."

The operation was done a little while later, after Cloud bled all over his shirt and Leon, claiming that the brunette _will_ have to ask him to marry him, otherwise he'll have to look for someone else who will keep his family's questions of who the father was at bay. The bleed was fixed, and it was found that a shard of bone from the blonde's cranial-fracture, which he suffered from the crash, had slipped down and punctured his ear-canal.

The blonde now found himself sprawled on the gurney in his hospital room, his pinky in his ear, picking out dried blood with a mildly disinterested expression as noon-sunlight streamed in through his window.

"Stop picking at it." A pillow smacked the blonde right in the face.

The pillow was promptly added to the oncologist's growing bedding, and Leon sighed from his place on the couch in the corner, sipping his coffee and eying some medical files.

A book was thrown at the brunette a few minutes later, and piping hot coffee splashed over the couch, the floor, and onto nice tight pants.

"OH _GOD, HOT! _OW!"

The blonde snorted, flicking some more dried blood out of his ear.

((Ah, sorry about the long wait! Just been busy, and the chapter I was writing to go in this one's place just didn't seem to co-operate. Got inspired by a House MD episode where House bled from his ear. I thought it looked cool. Enjoy! Hopefully, the next chapter will be up sooner than this one!))


	8. Myocardial Infarction

_Myocardial Infarction_

_Necrosis of heart muscle caused my an interruption to the supply of blood to the heart, usually caused by coronary thrombosis._

"Well, she asked me how she looked! I thought I'd be honest!"

The newspaper sitting upon the desk was rolled up neatly and was promptly used to whack the incompetent young man on the nose.

"No!" snapped the other.

Another whack.

"Bad boy!"

"Stop that!" snarled Leon, swatting the paper away from his face.

"No," huffed Cloud, hitting the diagnostician sharply on the top of the head with the offending piece of reading-material. "Not until you figure out that women _do not want to know the truth._"

"Well--" began Leon again, but was promptly hit on the nose with the paper once more.

A nurse passed The Head of Oncology's office just a moment later, and through the open door, she got a bit of a surprise: she saw the Head of Diagnostics sitting on the Head of Oncology, who was sprawled on the floor, and the brunette was trying to suffocate the handsome blonde with a seat-cushion.

The nurse hurried away. She was new. She didn't need the stress of an unlawfully handsome colleague dying on her.

Besides, worrying caused wrinkles.

She didn't want to look like a prune when she hit thirty.

Leon yanked the cushion off the blonde's face and glared down at the flushed young man. "Do I have your attention?" the brunette snarled.

"You had it when you sat on my crotch, sweetheart," Cloud returned in a calm manner.

The diagnostician slammed the cushion back onto the blonde's face.

A couple of minutes of ear-bleedingy creative and diverse swearing later, the two heads of department were sitting on one of the couches in Cloud's office, side by side, staring up at the ceiling blankly.

It was a slow day.

"I'm bored," the blonde said.

In the two men's own little language, Cloud just proclaimed his undying love to the other man.

"Me too."

In the two men's own little language, Leon replied with the fact that he preferred missionary.

"Want to get a beer?" Cloud asked blankly. '_How could that work with two guys?_'

"Sure, but, you're buying," Leon returned, standing up. '_No idea. I really do hope you were joking about that love thing, though._'

The blonde smirked, standing too. "If I must." '_Oh, that's for you to wonder about, darling._'

Rolling his eyes, Leon walked out of the office, Cloud half a step behind. "Yes, you must." '_You really do want me to have a mental melt down, don't you?_'

The oncologist smirked smugly and gave the brunette a peck on the cheek in reply. He got the finger in return.

The two men piled into the elevator, a paraplegic and two apparent family members in the soundproof steel box too. Leon grabbed Cloud by the wrist before the blonde man tried anything weird and no doubt amusing in the long run- as the doors slid shut.

This was a bad idea.

"I didn't know you cared!" cried Cloud like some sort of pansy diva, clutching Leon's hand before promptly throwing himself at the other man, flinging his arms around the diagnostician's neck. "I've been alone for _so long!_"

Cloud liked fucking with people's minds.

Leon wanted to kill Cloud.

The three other people in the elevator were, quite sadly, trying to watch without seeming like they were watching, the reflections of their horrified yet curious faces shining at Leon from in the steel doors.

Mind fuckery was fun, the diagnostician decided.

"I will _never_ let you be alone _again!_" Leon cried in the same overly-dramatic manner Cloud had, holding onto the other man tightly.

He felt the oncologist grin into his neck. "What fucking pussies write this shit?" said oncologist mumbled in an awed manner so that only the brunette heard.

"Poor bastards who don't get laid often enough," Leon replied quietly.

There was a '_ding_' from the elevator, and the three innocent bystanders hurriedly staggered and wheeled out of the steel box as though they'd seen Hell, naked, on a fluffy pink silk bed, and using marshmallows in a very creatively lewd manner.

Leon and Cloud, however, were slumped against the wall beside the elevator, clutching each other.

In laughter.

"Oh, GOD!" cried the diagnostician, his hands covering his face as his shoulders shook, laughter making his whole body shake.

"Yes, my son?" the blonde smirked smugly.

Leon whacked Cloud on the side of the head.

"What was _so wrong_," sighed the brunette after his laughter had subsided, breathing deeply, one hand still placed on his cheek.

The oncologist smiled cheerily in reply. "It was," Cloud agreed. "And that is what made it so awesome and mind-scarring."

The diagnostician smiled at him. "You suck."

"_Really?_ I thought it was your turn."

With a snicker, Leon shook his head and took a step toward the doors leading outside. Maybe they could creep out some passing birds of something. The moment his eyes fell upon the large glass doors, they were somehow drawn to some people just outside Aerith's office doors beside the exit. Who were conversing with the Dean.

Cloud heard the quiet, almost dying breath that floated from the diagnostician's mouth. Amused blue eyes looked to the side at the brunette's profile curiously.

The other man looked dead.

His eyes were hollow. His mouth was closed. His skin was pale.

Following Leon's eyes, the oncologist frowned. What could've possibly--

... oh.

In front of the glass and wood double-doors of the Dean's office, was Aerith herself, talking happily with two people. A couple. A young man, and a young lady. Around her age. They were on a three-quarter view to the two doctors: most of their backs facing the two men, but some of the side of their faces too.

Cloud felt his chest become cold.

The young man was speaking animatedly to Aerith, running one hand through his short sandy-blonde hair, his other hand on his female partner's hip, who leant her head upon his shoulder, her medium-length brown hair feathered over his arm, blonde highlights playing across his white leather coat.

Blue eyes glanced hesitantly back at Leon's dead, emotionless profile, and Cloud swallowed thickly, one hand coming up to grasp the brunette's wrist gently. He took a step back, lightly tugging the other male back toward the empty elevator.

The diagnostician didn't even struggle.

Cloud slowly and carefully lead Leon into the empty elevator by both wrists, his blue eyes fixed on the other man's own hollow, dead ones, which just stared blankly at the floor without seeing it.

The doors let out a hiss and started to close, the blonde looking up just in time to see the young woman standing in the sandy-blonde haired man's arms look around, her hair flying about her face, her bright, brown eyes latching onto his own blue ones before the doors closed completely.

Cloud swallowed thickly as the elevator rose, his fingers kneading into Leon's wrists, blue eyes glancing away.

The two doctors found themselves in the oncologist's office once more. The brunette sat on one of the couches, his head pillowed by the back of it, stormy eyes quiet and blank, staring up at the ceiling. The blonde was sitting on his desk, elbows on his knees, blue eyes sightlessly staring in between his knees and at the carpet below him.

They stayed like that for a long while. Each of them were in their own little world.

Finally, the blonde let out a quiet breath.

"I suppose it's not surprising," he breathed.

The diagnostician didn't move.

"Aerith is friends with them too," Cloud continued. "Though, a warning would've been ni--"

The door slammed open and the oncologist's bright blue eyes snapped to the side at the intruder, while Leon's own eyes flicked closed.

Seifer Almasy stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his white leather coat, his dark blue suit and white tie a charming sight on his tall, muscled frame, making his teal eyes light up, and his short, sandy-blonde hair stand out, a few locks tickling at his flawless, slightly-tanned skin.

"Hello, Cloud," he greeted, a crooked smirk on his face.

The oncologist straightened up a little in place and gave the taller blonde a nod in greeting. "Seifer." His voice was flat. Simple. Nothing special. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh," Seifer placed a hand to his chest, feigning a pout. "That hurts, Cloud. You didn't miss me? We haven't seen each other for just about a decade!" He let his hand drop to his side, leaning his sturdy shoulder against the door frame, sharp eyes fixed on Leon's unmoving, unresponsive body.

"Besides," he continued, looking back at the other blonde, smirk still in place. "Aerith and Rinoa are downstairs discussing womanly-stuff." He shrugged. "I thought I'd catch up. Was I wrong to do so?"

The oncologist shook his head in reply. "No, it's okay..."

"_Good!_" Seifer's smirk morphed into something feral and his sharp eyes snapped back to Leon.

"How's things, Squall?"

Stormy eyes opened and Cloud flinched.

The diagnostician was silent for a moment, before he slowly drew in a shaky, restrained breath, stormy eyes still fixed on the ceiling, a scowl melting onto his face. "I don't go by that name anymore."

"Really?" the intruding blonde asked, voice light, feral grin melting into a simple, self-satisfied upturn at the edges of his mouth. "I wouldn't know, Squall. You seemed to just cut me off--"

"You stole her from me."

Pure blue eyes swept from male to male, Cloud barely breathing. Leon was sitting upright now; neck straight, piercing stormy eyes fixed purely on Seifer. The other blonde was just watching him with equally as potent eyes, hands in his pockets, smug.

"... _Stole?_" he breathed after a moment of thick, poisonous silence, barely moving his lips at all, teeth glinting in challenge. "I didn't 'steal' anyone, Squall. _She_ came to _me_."

Stormy eyes narrowed, and hands slowly clenched into fists.

"Hell, it's your fault anyway," stated Seifer simply, shrugging. "You should've paid more attention to her. Not your medical exams. Don't blame me for your mistakes, Squall. She came to me on her own free will."

Teal eyes pierced stormy ones.

"And she_ loved it._"

Within a split second, Leon was barely wrenched away from the smug sandy-blonde-haired man before he tried to slam his fist into his face. Cloud let out a harsh grunt, tightening his bruising grip on the brunette's forearms and yanking the other doctor another half-a-pace backwards.

"Huh," grinned Seifer, eying the look of pure and unadulterated loathing that was directed up at him on the brunette's face, then at Cloud's look of restrained fury over the brunette's shoulder. "I remember there used to be a time when you were on my side," he said with a quiet, interested sound, teal eyes fixed on bright blue ones.

"I'm on no one's side," the oncologist hissed through his teeth, wrenching Leon another half-a-pace back, the brunette snarling, stormy eyes swirling with loathing.

Seifer smirked.

"Good," he said. "I remember how you liked Rinoa. Maybe I can--"

Cloud's hands suddenly let go.

Just like that, a fist slammed into the sandy-blonde haired man, Seifer letting out a sharp yell and staggering quickly backwards, the brunette stalking after him, into the hallway, _itching_ to hit him again.

The oncologist came to the doorway, just standing there, as the two grown males fought. Punches. Kicks. Swearing. Dirty fighting. Any upper-hand is an upper-hand. They didn't care. They were fit. They were angry.

They'd kill if they felt like it.

People hurried down the hall at the sound of the ruckus but never tried to stop the fight. It was almost like the whole hall was out of bounds. Like it was a bubble of it's own reality. That only the three men were allowed in.

Suddenly, a hand clutched sandy-blonde hair, and the shriek of shattering glass shot through the air, blood splattering on the clean floor.

Seifer fell back, the back of his head slamming against the opposite wall, blood coating his face, spewing forth from the fresh cut across the bridge of his nose, tiny fragments of glass littering his face and stuck to the blood- more glass littering the floor around the window Leon had just slammed his face through.

His hands came up, covering his bleeding face, a slew of the most foul, loathsome curses flying from his mouth and through his fingers, blood coating his lips and melting onto his tongue.

Leon stood over him, blood and glass speckled on his hand, stormy eyes just staring down at him.

He knelt down in the glass.

His hand touched a long, dagger-shaped shard of the shattered window, and his fingers curled around it.

There was a crunch beside him.

Cloud stood there, the tip of his boot just placed on the edge of the dagger of glass being held by the brunette, keeping the weapon against the ground. Keeping it from causing harm.

Blood leaked around the glass- from the brunette's fingers, and there was silence.

After a moment, Leon's fingers released the glass and he stood, eyes empty, and he turned away from the two blondes and the staring audience of patients and nurses, the diagnostician simply walking back into Cloud's office and closing the door with a simple, quiet _click_.

The oncologist looked back from his closed office door to the blonde at his feet, who was still clutching his face, but no longer swearing. "... You asshole." Cloud grabbed Seifer by the front of the shirt and yanked him to his feet, pulling the stumbling man through the small crowd of parting nurses and patients, and shoving him into the bathroom.

Without a word, Cloud pushed Seifer so he was hunched over the sinks and turned the cold water on, using his hands to splash the water onto the taller blonde's face none too gently. After a while of swearing and coughing, the doctor yanked Seifer up a little before pressing a wad of crumpled up tissues against the bleeding gash across his nose.

"Your bedside manner sucks," the taller man grunted, squeezing his teal eyes closed.

A faint something flickered behind the doctor's eyes, and his lips thinned. "You shouldn't have done that."

Seifer scoffed. "You know how I like messing with Squall."

"I know," said Cloud. "But, still."

The civilian's mouth twitched into a crooked smirk. "But, _what?_ Come on. Did you expect me to be happy and cheery to meet him again?" The other blonde didn't say a word. "Exactly."

Hands gripped Seifer's white leather coat and yanked him upright. He found himself staring down at a silent Cloud, both of the shorter man's hands being used to swap for a less bloody wad of tissues and press it against the taller one's nose.

The doctor's face was blank, but Seifer could tell that the other blonde was positively livid with unadulterated fury. He'd known Cloud a long time. He knew how to tell. Dragging his tongue over his lips, the taller blonde rose an eyebrow down at the doctor.

"So, you still single?"

Smouldering blue eyes snapped up and burnt into teal ones, and one of Seifer's wrists was snatched up, his hand being shoved against the tissues that were pressed to his nose.

"Stay here," Cloud said, his voice quiet and dripping with poison. "Keep pressure on that, and don't move." With that, the shorter blonde turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

He passed nurses, who were cleaning up the broken glass in the hall and the blood splattered on the floor. The oncologist finally entered his office with a little more force than was necessary, the door jumping from being slammed against the wall beside it.

Leon sat on the couch, his hands in his lap, his eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall. He didn't react when Cloud entered.

After a slew of foul, breathy words, the oncologist yanked out his little first-aid kit from behind his desk and turned around, storming back out of the office and slamming the door again behind him. But, not before the brunette saw the blood smeared on his hands.

The door of the bathroom swung open and Seifer looked up, his hand holding a nearly completely scarlet tissue against his nose. Cloud walked straight up beside him, slammed his first-aid box onto the counter in front of him, and said a single word.

"Kneel."

Seifer blinked. "Excuse me?"

The shorter blonde turned to him, white gloves covering both hands, a syringe being held, and his blue eyes wide and mildly psychotic. "_Kneel._"

After a moment of metal debate and the syringe swaying a little in the air in a mocking kind of dance, the taller blonde knelt. The tissue was wrenched from his hand, and the needle plunged into his flesh, making him hiss in pain, teal eyes, which had been staring up at the doctor, snapped closed.

"Shut up, you pussy." The needle disappeared, and more pressure was put on the cut. Seifer peeked open one eye, teeth gritted.

"You've changed," grunted the kneeling blonde.

"Thanks, captain obvious," said Cloud flatly, glaring down at the other man. "Shall we go into the Batcave and have sex on the Batmobile? You _know_ that car is just _hot._"

Seifer let the edge of his mouth twitch up a bit.

"I suppose it's not a real leap that you're acting like this..."

The tissues on his nose pressed harder and it was delightfully numb. "Acting like what?" asked the doctor flatly.

Another smirk. "Like I just hurt your girlfriend."

Bright blue eyes changed a little in the light. Cloud pulled the bandage off Seifer's nose and pulled out the hooked needle and stitching-thread from the kit, turning away from the other man a little. "Explain yourself," he murmured after a moment, his voice a little quieter.

The smirk widened.

"You remember when I introduced you to Squall?"

_"Oh, come on, Cloud!" cried Seifer, yanking along the shorter blonde by the hand, a wide, feral grin on his face, Cloud groaning unhappily and stumbling after the other young teen._

_"I don't want to meet another one of your whores!" moaned the shorter blonde, staggering a little on the pathway to the park._

_"They're not my whores," sniggered Seifer._

_"One would think not. Otherwise, our relationship would become increasingly awkward."_

_Cloud got a look in reply, and a joking pat on the ass._

_"And, here he is! Commander McEmopants himself! And Lady Radiant!" crowed the taller blonde, rounding a rather large push, still dragging Cloud, and coming to a lunch-table, where two people sat._

_A young lady with mediem-length brown hair looked up, one hand paced on the knee beside her, sitting beside a young man with short brown hair that fell around his ears and into his eyes, their backs to the table, all of the male brunette's attention focused purely on the large, thick textbook in his lap. The sciences of the brain, from the diagrams on the pages._

_"Squall? Rinoa?" Seifer came to a halt in front of the two, hand still grasping Cloud's, teal eyes staring down at the two. "This is Cloud." He let go of the other blonde's hand and motioned to him._

_Rinoa smiled warmly, standing gracefully and raising a hand to the new blonde. "Nice to meet you!" she chimed sweetly, Squall's blue-grey eyes glancing up at the new male under his jagged fringe._

_The lady's hand was promptly swept up and a light kiss was placed on the back._

_With a flush and a giggle, Rinoa shifted slightly, a sweet redness spreading across her cheeks as Cloud released her hand once more. "Nice to meet you," winked the new blonde silkily._

_Squall let out a quiet sigh, leaning back against the table behind him, Rinoa glancing over at him as he ran his fingers over the pages of his textbook, stormy eyes on Cloud._

_"He's a flirt and he's pretty. How the hell did you two meet? Porn-models anonymous?" the young male brunette asked flatly. "Not that they can actually be anonymous."_

_"Charming," smirked Cloud, Seifer staying silent and eying the two of them. "Actually, I met him in the back room. He was smuggling in more weed for me."_

_Squall let out a quiet breath through his nose, the edge of his mouth twitching upwards. "Weed? You look more of an opiate type of guy."_

_"Oh, no!" cried the blonde in answering, a hand coming up to place on his chest. "I wouldn't want to puncture my pretty, girlish skin!"_

_A flash of teeth was Cloud's prize, Squall ducking down to pretend to look back down at his textbook, hiding his grin. Charming smirk widening, Cloud just bent over, bowed fluidly to the two newcomers, and gave the two of them a wink, blue eyes glinting with glee._

_"So, anyone for an orgy?"_

"No," stated Cloud, threading the hooked needle, blue eyes avoiding Seifer's own. "I don't remember," he lied.

The kneeling man's smirk seemed to widen as the hook punctured numb flesh.

"You fell in love that day."

The hook froze.

Leon sat on the couch in Cloud's office, eyes blankly staring at the opposite wall by the door. He used to be Seifer's friend. Used to be great friends with him. Right up to the moment when Rinoa left him, to go with the other blonde. Their friendship shattered that day, and Cloud, who had been a childhood friend of the other blonde's, decided to stay with him, instead of Seifer.

Why did Cloud stay with _him?_ Why not stay with his childhood friend and Rinoa? _God_, it was confusing. A voice sounded behind the door and the diagnostician ignored it, fingers slowly moving: knuckles bruised and skin peppered with broken glass.

"Where is... Oh! _There_ it is! Cloud, have you seen--?" The door opened, and the voice stopped dead. Leon knew that voice. He knew that voice; that person. He _knew_.

Stormy eyes shifted from the wall, to float a little sideways, locking onto bright, surprised, brown eyes.

"... Squall," Rinoa breathed.

The diagnostician didn't move. He didn't say a word. He just watched her.

She was more beautiful than she was before.

A small, shy smile crossed her face, and she glanced at the ground, a hand still on the doorknob of the office, only just standing in the room, her petite body framed by the blurred images of nurses passing in the hallway behind her.

"I was wondering..." murmured Rinoa quietly, bright eyes looking back at the other brunette, "where Seifer was." She glanced around the office curiously.

"I slashed up his face."

Bright eyes snapping back to stormy eyes, Rinoa stared for a moment. Leon didn't even try to say he was joking to make her feel better. He wasn't in the mood. He could still feel the adrenaline streaming through his veins, his whole body hot with barely dwindling anger.

After a moment longer of silence, the diagnostician continued.

"He's in the bathroom. Cloud is stitching him up." He was trying not to sound bitter. Rinoa eyed him for a few more moments before nodding, bright eyes lowering down to the floor under her feet, slender fingers stroking the doorknob.

Silence engulfed them both, but it was a silence they both were used to. It was the silence they used to have all the time when they were together. A silence which was comforting for them both.

"Squall?" The young brunette lady looked up at him again and gave him a small smile. "You have a girlfriend now?" she asked. She was trying to break the ice. To talk. Like they used to do from time to time. She hadn't seen him for_ so many_ years. "I'm sure all the nurses would love to--"

"I loved you," was the quiet admission that cut her off like the explosion of a gunshot.

"Only you."

"_Love?_" questioned Cloud, staring down at Seifer, the hooked needle frozen half-way through the puckered, weeping flesh. "What nonsense are you spouting?" he asked harshly. His chest hurt.

The kneeling blonde's smirk widened into a full-fledged, charmingly crooked grin.

"You fell in love with dear Squall."

The needle tore through the flesh as it suddenly left it, making more blood stream down Seifer's nose and cheek, a few droplets catching at the edge of his eye, making him squint it closed, his grin still there, regardless.

"I'm not gay." A wad of tissues was pressed against the weeping flesh once more, a little harder than was truly necessary. Blue eyes stared down at the open teal one, a fog of different emotions clouding the perfect blue.

"Never said you were," smirked the taller male. "I just said you fell in love."

"What the fuck are you getting at?" Cloud's words were becoming increasingly quiet. That could either mean that he was restraining his fury, and barely holding himself back from sewing Seifer's eyes shut, or, Seifer had hit a nerve. The taller blonde was going to see which.

"Are you still as much a playboy as you were when we last saw each other?" the kneeling blonde asked simply.

"Yes. If not more-so..." His voice was still quiet.

Seifer had hit a nerve.

"You fell in love with Squall's personality," explained the kneeling blonde, barely feeling the wad of tissues brushing over his skin before being thrown into the bin. "He challenged you. You two just... clicked." His other teal eye opened. "You fell in love with him."

"Bull."

The stitch was continued, being tied a few times, before the string was cut. The fingers, still hidden under white latex, fumbled a little. Just a little. Barely noticeable, but they were bare inches from Seifer's eyes. He noticed.

"I'm not gay," Cloud said again.

A quiet huff of breath swept from the kneeling blonde's lips as the needle punctured his skin again and another stitch was begun. "I never said you were, sweetheart. You love his _personality_. If he had been a _chick_, you would've whipped out a cheesy pick-up line, and tried to get into his pants then and there."

Blue eyes flickered a little, the reflection of the increasing stitches playing in the pure blue orbs.

"But, since he was a _he_, you were stuck just trailing after him like a lost puppy for a few days before finding your feet again and going back to trying to fuck anything female with a hole."

The last stitch finished, and gloved hands hovered over Seifer's face.

"I'm not gay."

Teal eyes barely registered latex gloves being torn off a the first-aid kit being slammed shut, and Seifer had only just heaved himself back to his feet when the bathroom door swung closed once more.

"You..." Rinoa was struggling. A hand had come up to cover her mouth in shock. "You _loved_ me?"

Leon looked heartbroken. He _was_. "I _told_ you. I _told_ you I loved you." He sounded like he was begging, but he never moved from his place on the couch. Never moved any part of his body except the top-half. "I still do."

Her mouth was dry. Her heart was hammering in her chest. What had she...

"Excuse me."

She squeaked at the sound of a voice directly behind her and she whipped around, both arms coming up to her chest, wide brown eyes snapping to blank, emotionless blue ones. "Cloud!" she gasped.

"Hey," was his simple, barely happy greeting, the side of his mouth twitching up for a moment before falling again. Carefully, he slipped into the office, careful not to bump into the woman, who still stood in the doorway, and he strode slowly over to Leon, seating himself on the glass coffee-table in front of the other man.

"Give me your hand," was the quiet, useless statement. Leon had already risen it for the blonde. Damp cloth was dabbed at the bruised knuckles and blood-encrusted fingers, blue eyes just staring down at the precious, coagulating red liquid impassively.

"Hey, honey!" came another voice, making Rinoa squeak once more.

She looked back into the hallway to see Seifer standing there, crooked, charming smirk in place, a line of stitches spanning up from the edge of his right eye, up the bridge of his nose, and stopping at his forehead. She let out a quiet gasp, a hand coming up to cup his face, bright eyes staring at the meticulously sewn stitches as she felt one of her partner's arms coming up to slither around her waist.

Stormy eyes watched the interaction silently.

"We should get going," Seifer reminded the young lady in his arms quietly. "The restaurant won't wait forever."

"Oh, you're right," smiled Rinoa. "Silly me." They'd only supposed to come to the hospital to pick up Aerith. They were going on a double-date, really. She and Seifer; Aerith and her Zack. They wanted to catch up.

Bright eyes glancing over her shoulder and immediately falling upon stormy ones, Rinoa wrenched her eyes away from Leon's and looked at Cloud instead. "We've got to go," she said with a small smile. "See you."

The blonde sitting on the coffee-table looked up and gave her a weak smile, cloth being held gently to Leon's hand, which he was holding with his opposite one. With that, Seifer steered his beloved out of the doorway and out of sight, the last thing either doctor seeing being a flick of a blue dress and white leather.

The two men were silent.

The diagnostician's wounds were superficial. Merely cuts. He was fine. That didn't stop the damp cloth slowly being trailed over the wounds one by one.

Neither man commented on it.

It was comforting.

Cloud stared down at the brunette's hand, which held in his own, mind elsewhere. Leon just stared blankly at the wall opposite him. He felt numb. All he could really feel was something slowly spreading through his chest, and the light, careful touches of the damp cloth on his bruised knuckles.

It was like a snake was writhing in his chest, constricting his heart, slithering around his insides, rubbing against his ribs, curling around his organs. He felt like he was being suffocated. It was hot. Then cold. Then, he couldn't tell anymore. The snake slithered around inside him before sliding up his throat and bushing at his mouth. It was like he was going to throw up.

Leon's whole body slowly curled into itself, his jaw locked, trying to keep the snake in. To keep himself throwing up. He could feel the bile searing at his throat.

His forehead met soft material and the snake paused, the brunette swallowing thickly, letting his eyes open for a second, before he felt them sting, squeezing them closed once more.

The blonde stared down at the other man, his forehead cradled by Cloud's knees, keeping him from collapsing onto the floor between them. Blue eyes just watched as the brunette's shoulders started trembling, the hand held by the blonde cold and unmoving.

With their language, sometimes, neither of them really had to say anything at all.

Blue eyes closed.

'_She comes into my life every few years to break my heart again. Help me. Please._'

The blonde turned his head away, his free hand slowly raising to his chest and pressing against his heart. His chest hurt.

The hand holding the brunette's tightened it's grip ever so slightly.

((That took me three days. It was going to be split up into two chapters, but, I thought, what the hell. ONE CHAPTER. HAVE AT YOU. A little bit of vague fanservace for all you fellow CL fans, and I hope you enjoyed it. This still isn't going to be full-blown gay, btw. Just normal stuff... Which I'm not sure what to label. I thought this up a split second after the mention of a sequel. I'm going to go collapse in a corner and die now.))


	9. Nervous Breakdown

_Nervous Breakdown_

_An attack of depression or anxiety so severe that it prevents a person from continuing to function normally._

Notes flew through the air like tiny feathers. In every direction. Notes, notes, and more notes. So fast it was like a shower-- No. A _storm_. Like raindrops from a storm falling into a puddle; each one striking a new note a bare split second after the other. Notes, notes, _notes_.

Cloud Strife sat in the music-room of the hospital-school for all the ill children. He sat by the wall, an ivory-white electric guitar on his lap; behind him, all sorts of other guitars hooked on the wall.

The rain storm of notes continued. The music could be heard all through the Radiant Garden General Hospital, but most were used to it by now. It'd been going on for four days straight.

A piano sat against the other wall, a set of drums in the opposite corner. The blonde oncologist continued plucking at the strings, his eyes blankly staring at the floor, the intricate music flying from the speaker he sat beside being ignored.

There was a squeak from the door and Zack stood there, blue eyes staring at the other male as a ballad flies from his fingertips.

"Hey, Spike," Zack murmured, walking across the room to sink onto the piano-bench a metre or so way from the other male. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think there is something wrong?" Cloud returned, continuing his playing, the ballad becoming more complicated and intricate. Notes; chords. His fingers are a bur, sometimes.

The dark-haired male smirked. "Hey," he sniggered. "We knew each other pretty damn well when we were kids. Same high school, same dorm-complex." A hand was waved in the direction of the ivory-white instrument in the blonde's grasp.

"You only play when you're too upset for words."

A single note drew on. And on. And _on_.

Blue eyes glanced up from a jagged gold fringe and dark eyebrows rose in reply. After a moment, a palm came down on the strings and the note stopped.

"_So,_" sighed the darker-haired male, patting his knees thoughtfully as the blonde stood, turning his back on Zack, placing the electric guitar against he wall. "You gonna tell me what you're so upset about? Aerith actually brought me here just so I could ask for her. She's a little busy at the moment."

A shrug was all he really got. Cloud reached up and plucked a black, shiny acoustic guitar from being hitched upon the wall, and seated himself back on his stool, placing the instrument on his thigh once more.

"Aw, _c'mon_, Spike!" groaned Zack, swaying on his bench. "Everyone's wondering what the hell is wrong with you!"

"Lots of things," sighed Cloud, plucking absently at the strings before hitting a chord. "I'm just thinking..."

"About?" prompted the darker-haired male.

A swallow. A few more chords before more single notes. Another chord.

A lullaby.

"... Love."

There was silence from the other male as the lullaby continued. It curled around in the air like a silk ribbon, around and around; like a kittenish fantasy. Around and around. Until--

"_HAH!_"

Cloud looked up from his guitar, fingers plucking at the same strings over and over, to see Zack leaning forward on his bench, hands on his knees, a good-natured, joking grin on his face.

"You're kidding, right?" sniggered Zack.

A single, low note. Cloud just looked at the older male. No emotion on his face. Nothing.

Zack blinked before his grin weakened a little. "You're not joking."

The blonde oncologist let out a low sigh, slumping over the instrument in his lap slightly. "I wish I was, Zack," he groaned quietly. He was defeated, more or less. Lost.

"_You,_" Zack snorted. "In _love_. WOW. I thought it was only sex with you! WHO KNEW? What's her name? I'd love to meet her! First one to melt the dear Only-Sex Spike! Hah!" He was babbling. He was renowned for babbling. That's why he was such a good accountant. Desk jobs were easy as pie. "C'mon, Spike! Tell your favourite high school buddy-ol'-pal her name!"

Cloud just stared blankly over his knees at the carpet. Zack wasn't renowned for picking up on things quickly, but, this time, it clicked a little sooner than it should.

"It's not a 'her'?"

_Wince_.

A resounding "HOLY FUCKING JESUS MONKEYS_ IN GLITTERY PINK DRAG!!_" exploded through the entire hospital and startled quite a few elderly patients into jabbing their 'nurse' buttons at their heightened heartbeat and ringing in their ears. Meanwhile, back in the music-room, Zack was only a few bare inches from Cloud, and clutching the oncologist's shirt.

"Are you kidding me?!" Zack squawked, shaking the other male by the shoulders. "A _GUY?!_"

The oncologist gave the dark-haired male one of the most potent glares in history. It was almost palpable. A burning, tingling bitterness and the taste of your own brain-matter and blood at the back of one's throat would be the taste of his unadulterated loathing.

"HOLY _SHIT!_" screamed Zack, jumping back and throwing his hands in the air. "YOU'RE GAY! AND IN _LOVE!_ WHAT THE FUCK?! IT'S THE APOCALYPSE ALL OVER AGAIN!"

The dark-haired desk-worker received a sharp kick in the shin.

Cloud watched Zack hop up and down, gasping and clutching his leg, before he decided to kick the other one, too. The other male fell to the floor with a resounding _thud_.

"I don't know if I am or not," the blonde said after a moment, Zack looking up from rolling around on the floor, clutching both shins.

"Not sure about love?" returned the male on the floor. A nod was what he got in reply. "What makes you think _might_ be in love, then?"

"I was told so, and it made vague sense," returned Cloud blandly, still watching the other male, but starting to pluck at the strings of the guitar in his hands once more. The movements were automatic. He didn't need to think. "We bicker like a married couple, I know him better than I know myself, I've kissed him more than once –only playfully. Don't give me that look–, we've slept in the same bed, and the list goes on."

A moment of silence passed between them, while the sound of a complicated ballad was plucked out, before Zack made a quiet humming sound.

"Oh. Leon, huh?"

A glance. The ballad morphed into something different before the blonde's hands stilled on the strings. He let out a low, dissatisfied sigh. "... Yeah."

"When was the last time you saw him, anyway?"

A frown. "Dinner. After the whole incident with Seifer and Rinoa. Haven't seen him since, though."

"You know where he might be? Aerith says he hasn't come to work since, or even rung up to say where he is. Everyone's in the dark."

Cloud blinked.

"What?"

_Leon sat on the bench of the park on the mountain overlooking the town below. His eyes were clouded. Dead. He just stared down at the pinpricks of light that were windows, street-lights and cars... Why was he even there? How could the world continue on?_

_There was a crunch of gravel and Cloud stood beside him. The blonde gave the the other male a light tap on the shoulder._

_"You called?" questioned Cloud, slipping his hands back into his pockets._

_Grey-blue eyes just stared blankly down at the town below. Finally, a quiet sound of assent was heard by the blonde and Cloud nodded, bright eyes rolling upwards before he seated himself beside the other male. With a light nudge of his elbow, Cloud eyed Leon._

_Before he could ask as to why the brunette had called him out of his bed –which had an open-minded teen and her paraplegic but trusting cousin laying on it– at exactly two-fifteen in the morning, the brunette breathed out quietly, and answered the unasked question._

_"She left me."_

_Bright blue eyes glanced to the side at the other male's profile. Oh._

_Suddenly, a hand shot out and snatched hold of the brunette's forearm and Cloud stood, wrenching the other male along with him. There was a dissatisfied noise from the brunette, and the blonde ignored him, dragging the other male over to his recently-got-for-a-birthday-present-from-a-young-woman-he-doubted-he'd-ever-see-again motorbike, which sat, gleaming like a black jewel under a tree nearby._

_"The hell are you taking me?" Leon snapped after being shoved onto the shining leather seat._

_"My place," answered the blonde with a shrug, sliding onto the seat in front of Leon. "For booze, playboy, and a drunken heart-to-heart that neither of us will remember in the morning."_

A warm hand appeared on Leon's shoulder and he let out a quiet sigh, eyes closing in resignation.

"How did you find me?"

Cloud seated himself heavily beside the other male and shrugged, a hands' width between them as the blonde removed his hand from Leon's shoulder to interlink his long, dextrous, flexible fingers in his lap.

They sat on an upturned log at the very edge of Radiant Garden, the terrain pretty flat most of the way, but getting a little rockier and mountainous the further you get away from the centre of the city. They could see over most of the buildings, parks and homes. Radiant Garden was in the centre of a valley, surrounded by all sides in wondrous mountains and clouds.

"You like being able to watch over things when you're upset. So you can feel like you're not part of the collective; An exception to everyone else," Cloud shrugged, twiddling his thumbs, blue eyes blankly staring down at his feet. "I know more about you than you think."

Grey-blue eyes glanced at the circular movements the blonde was making with his thumbs before looking back over the city.

"You're fidgeting."

The movements stopped.

"Why were you fidgeting?"

"No reason. You haven't been to work in four days. Why?" The blonde looked at Leon's profile for a moment, before looking back over the expanse of grey and patches of green and purple-blue that was the city Radiant Garden.

"No reason."

The two of them were never good at heart-to-hearts when they were sober. Drunk, yes. But, the two of them would never be able to remember what the hell happened between them, so, they didn't really know if they'd fixed the problem or not. After a moment, Cloud let out a low, guttural noise and slumped forward, crossing his arms over his knees and cushioning his forehead on them.

Leon stared blankly over the expanse of city and sighed. "What'd he do to you?" he asked flatly.

"What makes you think he did something to me?" returned Cloud emotionlessly. They both knew they were talking about Seifer.

"The homosexuality jokes are at an all-time low and you haven't flaunted your sex-life at me yet."

A small, weak grin is directed at the brunette's profile and the blonde sighed, straightening his back so he was sitting in a proper sitting-position. "Seifer didn't do anything, munchikin," he grinned. "Nothing. I'm peachy. Perfect. Okey-dokie--"

"Okay," sighed Leon, cutting off the blonde fluidly and turning to Cloud with an unimpressed, tired expression. "You used the word 'peachy' without an innuendo. The fuck happened?"

"Nothing!" snapped Cloud. Innocence. Why couldn't he ever convince Leon he was innocent? Oh yeah. He was _never_ innocent. "Besides, you're the one with the broken heart," returned the blonde haughtily. "I should be the one asking you if you're okay, instead of you asking me the fuck happened."

"So, something _did_ happen." Not a question.

"Nothing happened!"

"Okay, what _didn't_ happen?"

"_NOTHING HAPPENED!_"

Cloud was on his feet, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched, glaring down at the other man. Leon still sat, grey-blue eyes staring emotionlessly up at the blond. Neither man moved. Neither said a word.

The oncologist knew what was happening. Leon was distracting himself from his own situation of heartache by focusing purely on a single detail in his life. He'd done that last time, too. He'd focused on the broken TV in Cloud's apartment; reading on how to fix it, taking it apart, sorting the pieces, then fixing it. The blond figured it was his own little way of trying to fix himself, but...

He didn't like it when Leon was focusing on _him_.

"_Nothing happened_," the blond snarled through his teeth quietly, menace dripping from his breathy words. "Now _shut the fuck up_ about it and _get to work._"

All he got was grey-blue eyes sliding closed before opening again. The diagnostician wasn't moving from his place. Defiance. Cloud loathed defiance sometimes.

"No," breathed Leon in reply. He had no emotion. He had no outward anger. No outward need to get the blond riled up. He was just _there_. "I'll kill someone if I get back there in this emotional state of mind. You know that." He's just stating facts. He sees no need to hide his state from Cloud.

"THEN DO _SOMETHING!_" screamed the blond. The brunet narrows his eyes a fraction at this. Nothing ever got the oncologist this distressed. Nothing. "Get up! Forget what happened! Take control of your life! Don't let something _tiny_ mess you up in the head!"

"Tiny?" Leon breathes. One would hardly consider heartbreak as 'tiny', but the diagnostician knew that Cloud wasn't talking about him. He was talking about himself.

"_YES!_" roared Cloud, a hand coming up to fist in his messy blond spikes as though he was only just keeping his cranium from shattering. "Tiny! It's _tiny!_ Tiny compared to everything else! It's just a word! Nothing to be overworked about!"

He's distraught, now. Leon had never seen the blond man have a meltdown before. It was a first for him, but he stayed silent, watching everything through piercing, analysing, grey-blue eyes.

Cloud's clutching his hair with both hands now. The diagnostician could've sworn he saw some blood leaking from his scalp.

"It's not your fault. It never is! It just happens," the oncologist babbles to himself, his breaths coming in hasps and chokes. Blue eyes; always locking in emotions other than lust and flirtatiousness; now spewing forth a thick, jumbled concoction of strong, overloading emotions and thoughts. "It's not something you did, it's not something that you wanted to do- it's just something that _happens_. Random! A sick sort of lottery! _It's not your fault!_"

And, for the first time, Leon sees tears in those blue eyes.

The blond covers his face in his hands, tiny smears of blood on his fingertips, more blood sticking to the roots of his hair in places. He's taking slowing, trembling breaths, as though he was afraid the air would disappear from around him and leave him to die. He's trying to calm down.

"Something's wrong with me." Cloud's muffled whisper barely reaches Leon's ears from where he sat.

"Something's always wrong with you," the diagnostician returns automatically, his voice quiet, a tinge of comfort melting through his words, grey-blue eyes dancing over the blond's trembling frame.

A quiet, muffled laugh. "Yeah, I suppose you're right.." His hands drop, and the tears are gone. Only faint smudges of blood on his cheeks. His blue eyes stare down at the ground at his feet; emotionless; _dead_.

A tinge of irony tickling at the back of Leon's mind, the brunet let out a quiet breath. "Want to get a beer?" he asked. Maybe it's his turn to console and listen, instead of Cloud doing so for him.

The bond glanced up, emotions finally locked back. Finally making him but an emotionless shell. Yes, it was definitely Leon's turn to be the shoulder to cry on. Or-- in their case, the one to volunteer his stash of beer and cash.

"Yeah," Cloud breathed, a hand coming up to touch his scalp once more, a visible twitch of pain shooting through his face.

With a nod, Leon heaved himself to his feet and started walking down the path to the road, listening closely to the sound of the slow, stumbling footsteps of the blond behind him. "How did you get here?" the brunet asks quietly over his shoulder.

"Walked," was the breathed reply. Then a mumbled addition that the diagnostician wasn't sure he was supposed to hear, "needed time to think."

Leon walked to his car, which he had parked by the road, and unlocked it, slipping into the driver's seat. His heartbreak was more bearable now. It didn't hurt as much. He supposed it was because he had something different to focus on. Something to distract him. Grey-blue eyes glanced to the side as he closed the door and Cloud slid into the seat beside him.

As he turned the key in the ignition, the diagnostician couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. "Our relationship is _screwed_."

"Always has been," replies the oncologist airily, placing his forehead against the cool glass of the window, absent blue eyes staring blankly out at the trees.

"Suppose so."

The car rumbled down the road smoothly as the stars twinkled overhead.

"Though, I guess I shouldn't call it a relationship. Neither of us are gay," Leon added thoughtlessly.

Cloud swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes shut.

"... yeah."

((... Well, this was far more dramatic than I ever wanted it to be. Sorry about that. And LONGER than I wanted it to be! Darnit! And, I feel a quick, innocent slash scene coming up. FUCK. I made myself promise that this story WOULD NOT have any slash scenes when I started it! The hell?! ARGH. ... Anyway, yeah. As always, enjoy yourself while I try to commit self-disembwelment with a handy pack of pocky. I know nervous breakdown is not a symptom or disease, but I had no other idea on what to call this chapter.))


	10. Paresthesia

_Paresthesia_

_A sensation of burning, prickling, itching, or tingling of the skin with no obvious cause._

The door to Leon's apartment creaked open and the light was flicked on.

The apartment was sparse. Clean; ordered; and only filled with things that seemed 'needed'. There was a large, flat-screen TV in the corner on top of a cabinet that held only a few DVDs and violent video games, a fold-out couch in front of the TV which was neatly put away, a single novel placed on the arm of it. On the opposite corner to the TV was a mini-grand piano, and beside that was a bookshelf filled with thick books from medical journals to murder mysteries.

Walking into his home silently, Leon's boots thudded lightly against the polished wood floor and watched silently as Cloud shuffled in after him. The blond man immediately walked past the piano to the small archway leading to the kitchen, beside the hallway which lead to the bathroom and bedroom.

As the door was closed and locked, the brunet's grey-blue eyes watched as Cloud pulled open the tall, old wooden cabinet with stained-glass panels to reveal bottles of strong spirits and liquors, as well as delicate shot-glasses placed in neat, ordered groups.

Plucking an average-sized glass and the large bottle of vodka out of the cabinet, Cloud was silent as he turned around and placed his items onto the bench before him, leaving the cabinet to hang open, sending coloured shadows across the floor from it's stained glass.

Leon was standing in the archway, at the edge of the kitchen, hands tucked into his pockets. His grey-blue eyes dragged slowly over the blond's ministrations with impeccable detail. Soaking up every twitch. Every shift.

Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what.

The blond throws back his first drink- a mixture of vodka, soda-water and a flavoured drink. Vodka, mostly. A slow hiss of appreciation is all he makes as the drink sears at his throat like bile, his empty glass slamming against the bench.

The blond is about to make another-- when a hand barely touches his elbow.

"Strife--"

He yelps. Cloud actually _yelps_. His whole body wrenches from Leon's fingertips against his arm- and his glass flies off the bench, having been grasped by the male, and shatters against the tiled floor with a piercing noise.

Leon is surprised more than anything. His grey-blue eyes are on the shattered remains of the glass by the fridge, then on Cloud's own, which are wider than they should be, clutching his arm where the other male had touched him.

Tiny pieces of the puzzle slowly squirmed themselves into their places in Leon's mind, and the brunet merely raises his eyebrows at the other male. A silent mixture of '_are you okay?_' and '_why'd you do that?_'.

Bright blue eyes blink a couple of times before Cloud looks away, a tongue sweeping over his dry lips, hand tightening on his arm and his eyes flickering to the shattered glass on the floor to his arm and then around the kitchen.

There was the sound of splashing water and the blond started in surprise, eyes snapping to the brunet before him, who was making another drink –practically all vodka– before holding it out to Cloud, grey-blue eyes analysing and boring into the blond's own.

With a thick swallow, bright blue eyes look away and Cloud takes the drink- careful not to touch the other male's skin, and steps around the brunet, walking into the living room, head bowed, circling the couch and sinking into it with a quiet sigh.

Leon cleans up the broken glass in the kitchen silently, eyes occasionally flickering over to the other male where he sat; Cloud silent and running his hands through his hair every few moments, drowning himself in his drink.

Finally, the brunet sank into the couch beside the other male, two hands' widths between them, Cloud's re-filled drink before him, beside the vodka bottle on the rug before them. Leon was still silent, sipping his own alcoholic drink, watching the other male from the corner of his eye.

The blond was suddenly gulping down his drink like it was air- like he _needed_ it- but it was burning him, so he was struggling a little. He slammed the empty glass down upon the floor once more and let a shudder sweep through his body, teeth gritted in a grimace.

Every so slowly, the jigsaw puzzle was becoming easier as the pieces came together.

A hand touched Cloud's cheek and the blond jumped back; suddenly pressed against the arm of the couch, eyes wide and horrified, a gasp flying from his lips.

He'd never felt like this. Never in his _whole life_. He didn't like it. He _hated_ it. It was new and confusing and terrible and he _hated it! _Leon was in his head and on his skin and _inside_ him and whenever the male touched him it _burnt_ and Cloud didn't understand and he HATED IT.

Brown eyebrows raise slightly at the other male's reaction, the brunet lowering his hand, glass gently nursed in his hand, the rim of the glass gently placed against his lips.

"Calm down, won't you?" Leon urged, voice low and gentle and... curious.

Cloud can only run a hand through his spiky, unruly, messy hair with a shaky breath and nod, shifting back into the couch, eyes averted. Blood was on his fingers and in his hair and his scalp hurt in places, but he could barely feel it.

Blue eyes squeezed closed and he gritted his teeth.

Why him?

_Why?_

"Want to talk about it?" breathed Leon, eyes on his glass, tilting it to one side, watching how his drink ripples and shifted, before tilting it to the other side.

"Nothing to talk about," grunted the blond in reply, eyes still tightly closed.

"You just inhaled some of my best booze, Strife. Cough it up."

In their own little language, the conversation was the opposite;

'_I guess you don't want to talk about it, huh?_'

'_Not unless you go back to work and ignore the fiasco with Her and Seifer._'

'_You know I can't do that._'

Cloud hated how he felt right now. Was it truly 'love'? Was Seifer right? If this was love, he didn't understand what people like so much about it.

His chest hurt to much it was hard to breathe, his skin burnt and tingled wherever Leon had touched him, all he could think of was the brunet, he felt heavy and light all at once and it was confusing as he hated it.

Grey-blue eyes drifted toward the blond before drifting away once more.

Quite a few silently-consumed glasses later, Cloud was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring down at his half-empty glass of... gin? Or was it tequila? He didn't know. Leon was beside him, alternating from pressing antiseptic-soaked cotton buds against the self-inflicted wounds in his scalp, and stitching them up.

The two of them hadn't spoken. Merely swapped empty glasses for full ones, and quiet, semi-pained grunts on Cloud's part every time Leon pulled too hard on a stitch. He'd slowly adapted to the burning he got whenever the brunet touched him. It'd now just turned into mildly uncomfortable tingles.

Long fingers raked through short blond spikes in a search for more fresh blood, and blue eyes slowly slid closed. He was insane. In 'love' with his closest... well, not really 'friend', but 'acquaintance'? That didn't sound so bad, but...

Blue eyes slid open again.

Leon was all he had, really. The only person who didn't expect anything of him. The only one who truly knew him for him.

He didn't want that to disappear.

Would it disappear if he told him?

He doubted he could keep it secret that much longer.

It _hurt_.

"Can you be in love with someone and still not find them sexually attractive?" the drunken blond found his voice saying, the start and ends of his words melting together ever so slightly.

The fingers paused in the movement of picking dried blood from his hair.

"... Why do you ask?" Leon finally murmured, lowering his hands and pulling off the plastic gloves he had been wearing. He'd had as many drinks as Cloud had, but he had a slightly better grasp on verbalisation than the other male. Lucky him.

Blue eyes stared down at a scuffed boot.

Dark eyebrows twitched upwards. "... Are you in love, Strife?"

The picture was becoming almost complete.

There were only a few pieces of the jigsaw missing now.

"This... this person," the blond mumbles, rotating the glass in his hands, watching as it rippled in the glass and distorted the image of the rug under it. "I... think I might love them-- It-- it makes sense, y'know. But I _don't_ want to fuck them." He takes a sip. "... Or for them to fuck me," Cloud adds after a second.

"... I think."

"Platonic love?" Leon queried, placing his elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand, eying the other male's profile with half-closed eyes. "You and platonic don't usually fornicate in the same sentence, Strife."

"Well,_ I don't_ _know_, Leonhart!" the blond groans, fisting a hand in his hair for all of half a second before he became aware of the stitches under his fingers and wrenched his hand away again.

"Why don't you check?"

Wide bright blue eyes snap to half-closed grey-blue ones.

"I-- I can't do that!" Cloud hisses through his teeth. "It's just... That..." He wrinkles his nose a little. "... Ew..."

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"You?" Leon murmured, lifting his cheek out of his hand, "Unwilling to stick your tongue down someone's throat? That's new," he said nonchalantly, placing his glass down by his ankle and sinking back into the couch.

"I thought you meant fucking them," the blond mumbles slowly, eying the other male with confused blue eyes, fingers flexing around his cool glass.

The brunet raises a hand slightly and waves it in the air in a undecided motion before letting it fall back onto the couch beside him.

"You of all people should know you don't have to fuck someone to know if you're sexually attracted to them or not," he sighs, grey-blue eyes staring at the other male through dark eyelashes.

"You..." began the blond slowly, booze-addled brain struggling with the information. "Want me to kiss y... _them?_" His brain was still half-a-step behind, but it eventually got the point.

"You need to," explained the brunet with a one-sided shrug. "You need to know whether you want to fuck them or not, therefore proving if it is platonic love or not, and therefore hopefully getting rid of your confusion and shit."

Cloud stares at the other male, long explanation surprising him somewhat. "... You sure you're drunk?"

"Positive," chuckled Leon. "I used 'therefore' two times in the same sentence." He was always proud of his grasp on language. A frown melts onto his face. "Or was it three times...?"

He couldn't exactly ask the other male if it was two or three times he used that word, because that was the second that a pair of warm lips pressed against his.

Somewhere in the back of Cloud's mind, he figured a peck was enough, but he wanted to be positive, so, he parted his lips a little. Leon didn't struggle. He didn't shove the other male off. It was probably the booze messing up his head.

The kiss was slow. Careful. Deliberate. No touches were shared. Nothing except lips and tongue. Nothing. They were dancing on the knife-edge. Soft touches of lips. Gentle brushes of tongue. Hot breath rippling over mouths and cheeks.

Cloud felt... odd. He didn't understand it. He'd never been in love. He'd never understood the idea of love. He'd never kissed a guy, either.

Well--

Not like _this_.

The blond presses closer, movements slow, gentle, careful. He was always careful. He's doing most of it. The one against him is only reacting minimally. Only slightly. Almost testing him. Just seeing what he'd do. Licks. Gentle movements. Nothing big. Nothing sharp. Gentle.

Teeth sink into the blond's lip and he lets out a quiet, surprised grunt.

Before Cloud could make any half-hearted move to pull back, he felt words being breathed against his parted lips. Focusing more than it should really take to understand, he stays close and keeps his eyes closed.

"I suppose you need this, Strife.." It's husky. Demanding. Cloud likes it, but thinks it's just a little too low. No, wait... A little too... a... A little too... _something_. "All right. I'll play along."

Suddenly, lips are on his again, and it's far more carnal. Far more violent. Possessive. _Harsh_.

A hand comes up, and it's gripping his spiky blond hair. Cloud feels pain shoot through his scalp from the fresh wounds he'd inflicted upon himself when he'd been spewing every detail of his worries. He likes the pain. Kind of. He kisses back just as roughly. He bites. A hand grips tightly at that shoulder-length brown hair and pulls at the locks.

"Leon." The name falls from his lips as he's pushed onto his back, glass falling from his lax grip to clatter onto the floor, ice tinkling and alcohol splashing over the smooth wooden surface. He never said their names.

"Shut up, Strife," the brunet snarls quietly above him, teeth sinking into the soft fleshy lobe of his ear. Leon is trying to dominate him. The blond never liked being dominated.

Suddenly, Leon's back slams against wet floor and Cloud is straddling him, hand still fisted in that brown hair tightly. They're on the floor. Neither of them notice. The blond hangs over him, golden spikes framing his deceptively pretty face, his free hand planting itself on the slippery wet wood morphing into rug beside Leon's ear.

A hand grips tighter on blood-riddled locks and the blond is yanked down, swollen lips meeting once more in a bruising, violent kiss.

Cloud's abandoned glass rolls across the floor to come to a stop near the TV.

A hearty and agonisingly instantaneous throb of pain was what brought Cloud Strife out of his blissfully numb and dreamless comatose slumber. Vaguely, in the back of his mind –as aforementioned 'mind' sluggishly rebooted and started up Windows XP– the blond got the idea that God hated him and wanted him to die an agonisingly painful death from drowning in a pool of mucus and vomit whilst strangling himself with his own intestines.

God was used to Cloud Strife's hangover-induced thought of suicide and continued flipping through the paper.

Senses slowly connecting themselves to his brain one by one like lines being connected by a half-asleep phone-operator, Cloud shifted slightly from his place, trying to figure out where he was, why he was there, what he'd been doing, and if he was naked.

He wasn't ashamed of his body-- he just wanted to know if he should ready himself for a grope any time soon. Cold hands weren't Cloud favourite thing, really.

Another hearty slam of agony exploded just behind the blond's eyes and he let out a low, guttural noise that could've easily been related to a cat being strangled and run over a couple of times by a monster truck.

A voice beside Cloud replied in a thick, cottonish manner.

"... Stop screaming... you... mother of a... oh_God_..."

God paused in his giggling at the comic page of his paper to pick up the phone.

In all fairness, the two doctors Cloud Strife and Squall 'Leon' Leonhart could've easily been in a much worse position than they were now, but, since their brains seemed to them be imploding, exploding and shifting dimensions and only just keeping the wave-form from collapsing all at the same time, neither of them really cared. The two men were laying on the fold-out couch in the centre of the diagnostician's apartment, fully clothed, hangovers using their brains as batting practice.

Cloud lay on his stomach, one arm brought up and bent so he could use the back of his forearm as a pillow, his other arm curled over his head, shielding his eyes and face from any and all light, and also covering his ear too, which was kind of lucky. Leon lay on his back beside the other male, one leg bent, one arm flung over his eyes, keeping all light away from his sensitive and pretty minty grey-blue eyes, his other arm draped over his stomach daintily.

"I'll..." croaked the blond slowly, his mouth feeling like it's full of cotton, his head throbbing painfully every second or so, eyes closed under his arm, mouth barely moving as he rasped the words out. "I'll stop... screaming... if you do."

"I'm... not the one... screaming," wheezed Leon in reply, in much the same condition. Neither men moved a single muscle except their mouths. They were in too much agony to figure out how to move and breathe at the same time. Breathing was fun. "... _You_ are."

Quite suddenly, the air around them exploded with indecipherable, ear-shattering noise, and both men screamed.

"Make it stop!" sobbed Cloud, clutching both ears and curling into a foetal position, face contorted in what could only be described as the kind of unadulterated agony akin to slamming your dick in a car door so hard that it would even make Superman wince. "MAKE IT STOP!"

"Stop screaming!" shouted Leon, both hands fisted in his hair, barely able to struggle himself into a sitting position with his brain doing stomach-jarring back-flips and slamming itself onto the parallel bars repeatedly, and the man squinted around his apartment with a blurred eye.

The phone continued ringing, it's piercing tone making both men's hangovers level-up, receive another four AP, and the ability of Nausea.

With a groan, Leon planted a hand on the blond's other side and leant over the prone, agonised man, reaching his other hand as far as he could; toward the phone that was ringing far too loudly by the table on the other side of the couch's arm. Just as the brunet's fingertips brushed the white plastic of the machine, his arm buckled, and he fell onto Cloud.

They looked like some kind of warped cross, really; their stomachs the only things touching. The blond had been shoved onto his back from the weight of the other male, and the brunet was still reaching for the ringing phone... And, if anyone was to look, Cloud was turning green.

"Get off me," croaked the blond quickly, still slightly green. It wasn't a trick of the light. Nausea was a powerful attack. He turned greener. "Get off me." And greener. "_Get off me!_"

With a grunt, Leon finally snatched up the phone and heaved himself into his prior position, leaning over Cloud but not touching him, the other male slowly fading back into a slightly healthier colour.

With a press of a button, the ear-shattering ringing stopped, and both males let out a dual sigh of relief.

"Hello?" the diagnostician mumbled throatily, letting his eyes close, holding the phone a little more than a hands' width away from his ear. He didn't need his eyes for talking, and the light hurt, anyway. The brunet felt the other male on the couch curl against him, a warm forehead pressing against his hip.

"_Doctor Leonhart!_" came the disgustingly chipper voice of nurse Rikku through the speaker, the frequency of her voice causing a spike of agony to shoot through both males' heads like a rusted arrow through an unwittingly slow cow. "_Hey there!_"

The phone was held at arms' length.

"_Ms. Geinsborough told me to call you! You and Doctor Strife are late!_"

"Late?" breathed Leon, a grey-blue eye peeking blearily open to stare down at the man curled against him. Cloud twitched his shoulders in an oblivious shrug, trying to become comatose once more, nose gently pressed against the other man's thigh.

The blond's watch wasn't much help, because the numbers were just a neon green blur to the diagnostician, so, he closed his eyes again.

"_Y'still there?_" queried nurse Rikku after a second of silence.

"Still here," Leon sighed.

"_Huh?_"

The phone was brought slightly closer to the diagnostician's ear, but not too close. "Still here..." he repeated slowly. His hangover was lethargically fading away, but that didn't mean he was ready for anything other than silence.

"_You sound tired, doc! What happened? You have some hot and heavy sex last night?_" giggled the nurse happily.

Grey-blue eyes peeked open once more and Leon looked down at the half-asleep blond beneath him. "Strife, did we have sex last night?"

In all seriousness, Leon did not remember anything from the moment he entered his apartment last night. It was a mere dark blur that he was in far too much agony to try and decipher. He really wanted to know.

Rikku made a sound that was oddly like a muffled, gleeful squeal from the other end of the line.

Blue eyes almost seemed to _creak_ open and Cloud shifted slightly onto his back, staring up at the other man with a look that seemed to be a mixture of confusion and dumb shock.

"Why are you asking me?" the oncologist finally croaked, still weighed down because of his hangover; Leon being the quicker to recover out of the two men.

"I'm not one to take it up the ass," the brunet grunted, his shoulders twitching in a minute shrug, the phone barely held in his lax grip.

"And you think I am?" Cloud returned as haughtily as he could, a golden eyebrow twitching upwards.

"Are you?" queried Leon, in too much pain to actually add a lathering of the usual smug, bastardised '_hurhur yer gay_' subtext. He was too much of a gentleman to do that, anyway. He'd just leave a stack of gay porn magazines on the blond's desk next time he knew someone important was going to visit the oncologist.

The blond just stared up at Leon with a look of silent disapproval and shifted both of his legs a little. With a quiet sigh, Cloud rolled over once more, turning his back on the other man, and he curled his arm back over his head. "No, sweetheart. Nothing happened that dear little Rikku needs to know."

With a vague grunt of understanding, or at least a very vague grasp of whatever the hell Cloud said, Leon closed his eyes again and went back to making low, guttural, monosyllabic answers to whatever Rikku squealed through the speaker of the phone. After a while, he started hinting to her to hang up. He was far too polite of a man to say anything that included her mother and the next-door neighbour's family cactus, so, he just kept hinting.

Body motionless and brain slowly and stubbornly easing itself into a bath of warm water and chicks in sequinned bikinis, Cloud sighed gently into the mattress and went back to envisioning a nice big paddock of green grass, flowers, the sky a nice blue without a cloud, and a couple of chicks in sequinned bikinis.

In the back of his mind, as the agonised slams of his hangover was sulkily dancing about the doorway and refusing to leave, plus burning pain on either side of the blond's scalp he'd yet to figure out what it was from, something clicked and the oncologist's blue eyes opened just a fraction.

He felt lighter.

Twitching a golden eyebrow upwards slightly at himself, Cloud continued staring blearily through his eyelashes at the blurred patterns of the couch mattress. Lighter? Why would he feel lighter?

He... didn't remember jack shit from last night. He highly doubted Leon did, either. What could have possibly...

Behind him, he heard Leon mumble something into the phone and the blond felt something inside his chest squirm a little.

'The fuh...

A blink.

Oh yeah.

Rinoa- Seifer- stitches- love. Oh, right.

Rolling onto his back once more, the hungover oncologist stared up at the brunet with half-open eyes. Leon still sat there, one hand planted on Cloud's other side, almost trapping the blond man, but not really, the diagnostician grunting a few half-hearted words to the phone, which was being held in the air, half an arms' length away, and Rikku replied with a happily chipper statement.

After a moment, grey-blue eyes peeked open and stared down at Cloud in a silent, deadpan, questioning look that one could easily translate as '_the fuck do you want?_'.

Funnily enough –at least, to Cloud–, he didn't feel that sudden explosion of panic to the point of suffocation and nauseating awkwardness that he'd been having at the mere _thought_ of the other man ever since Siefer and his 'talk'. His chest just felt... warm.

He didn't know _why_ he didn't feel panicked anymore, but, in his hungover-induced lack of any neurones that _mattered_ firing, he guessed that it'd been sorted out while he was in a drunken stupor, and there was no need to worry anymore.

Twitching his shoulders slightly in a '_I don't know_' kind of nonchalant reply, the edge of Cloud's mouth hitched up a slight bit, blue eyes still half-open and staring up at the other male. Everything was back to normal. Kind of.

Leon's grey-blue eyes dragging closed, a long, slow breath of an utterly dissatisfied sigh floated from the brunet's nostrils. After a moment he shifted to the side, slowly letting himself settle back into the mattress of the couch, lifting the arm that'd been propping himself up and folding it behind his head.

Rikku's voice continued bounding from the phone's microphone like a delighted little puppy. The girl continued babbling on about something or another, the smooth white phone placed half an arm away on the mattress, the speaker muffled against a handy throw-pillow.

Feeling a sigh against his side, Leon peeked an eye open and looked over at the blond beside him. Cloud was silent, laying on his side once more, nose pressed up against the diagnostician's ribs, eyes closed, golden spikes tickling lightly against his side.

With a quiet grunt, the brunet reached his free hand over and tried combing those unruly spikes away so they'd be less irritating.

Apparently, Cloud's hair was as irritating as his presence was, and refused to be even remotely helpful.

"Mnuhh..." mumbled the ever so articulate oncologist Cloud Strife.

A few more tugs at his spikes of gold, and the blond doctor made another quiet noise, reluctantly raising a lax hand and batting at the bothersome fingers fiddling with his hair with the ferocity of a kitten which only just figured out it had four legs, instead of two.

A quiet chuckle was all he got in reply before his lax hand just landed on Leon's stomach and decided to stay there.

Bugger it.

He was tired.

A low noise, something between a hum and a sigh, rumbled from the brunet's chest, and, even whilst being half-comatose, Cloud could understand just what the other man meant in their own little language.

'_Being a little clingy, aren't you?_'

With joints that seemed to be filled with sand and sawdust, and muscles that seemed more fitting for a noodle-dish than anything else, the oncologist shifted his hand which was placed against the other man's warm stomach and curled it into a one-finger salute.

A quiet, deep chuckle was all he got in reply, and the blond felt a smile warm his hidden face.

It was like everything was back to normal.

His chest felt... funny, but not like it'd been before.

It didn't hurt.

He almost, _almost..._ liked it.

The doors to the Radiant Garden General Hospital hissed open at exactly two-fourteen in the afternoon and the head of oncology and head of diagnostics shuffled into the slightly busy lobby; patients, nurses and the occasional run-away doctor scuttling around the lobby and nurses' station like a semi-chaotic beehive.

Cloud shuffled forward, a hand coming up to rake through his blond spikes, which were a little messier than usual, his fingertips gently pressing against the hidden stitches in his scalp experimentally.

"Stop fiddling with them," Leon grunted from beside the other man as they wove their way through the crowd of people, both men wearing sunglasses and smelling of the soap in the brunet's shower.

"I would if you'd have done them properly," the oncologist mumbled haughtily back. Both of the men's voices were low, deep and quiet. Their hangovers were being like clingy door-sailsmen- refusing to leave, and even taking it upon themselves to talk at them through the locked door.

Over by the nurses' station, a young intern fumbled with a trolly of different kinds of equipment before the metal trolly tipped over completely and it all crashed to the ground.

Both doctors froze.

Leon's eyes were squeezed closed behind his sunglasses, his jaw purposefully slackened, agonised trembles dancing down his arms to his clenched fists and a broken, pained gasp floating from his lips. Cloud's eyes were wide behind his sunglasses, his mouth hanging open, the kind of grunt you get when someone slams a baseball into your gut flying from his throat.

Peeking a weeping eye open, the diagnostician looked to his companion silently as the trolly was hefted loudly back upright behind them and everything was placed back onto it was painful clangs and bangs.

The oncologist was silent, hands covering his face, trembles shaking his frame. He was going to cry. His cranium was going to shatter. Oh, God, the _pain_.

God waved a hand noncommittally in the doctors' general direction. He had a plague he needed to see to.

"_Doctors!_" came a feminine voice.

Both men winced and the blond one of the pair barely swallowed back a sob behind his hands.

Aerith strolled out of her office, her slender arms crossed over her pink-clad bosom, long braid swinging along behind her before she came to a stop before the two doctors, her lips pursed unhappily.

"Doctors," she said again, with the tone of a scolding mother. The kind of tone that stated quite flatly that she knew what they'd done, and just wanted them to admit it.

"It's his fault," said both men at once, Leon pointing at Cloud, and Cloud removing one hand from his face to point at Leon.

The Dean rolled her forest-green eyes skyward and she sighed gently.

Looking back at the two men, Aerith pursed her lips once more, unfolded her arms, and rose her hands in front of herself, her bangles clinking together and making both men twitch.

With a little sigh, Aerith clapped her hands loudly.

The oncologist choked and the diagnostician winced violently.

Aerith clapped her hands again. And again. And once more.

Ignoring the curious glances from onlookers, the Dean lowered her hands and placed them on her hips, eying the two agonised men before her who were either covering their face with their hands to hide their tears, or placing a shaking hand to their temple in a feeble attempt for soul-searching silence.

"Next time, watch it," Aerith warned, flicking her dainty nose upwards slightly. It was her hospital. Her responsibility, and she was the sheriff around here. "Watch how much you drink, too. Don't come into work like this again, please." With that, the elegant and beautiful woman turned on her heel and floated back to her office.

The doors of the elevators hissed open moments later, after the two doctors forced their tortured bodies over to the steel boxes with shaky steps and quiet sobs, and the two men were met by a chipper Zack Fair.

"_SPIIIIIIKE!_" Zack squealed at the highest, most piercing pitch and loudest volume possible, an ear-splitting grin plastering across his face. "_HEY THERE!_"

The dark-haired desk-worker took a moment, then blinked at the sight of Cloud curled on the ground in the foetal position and clutching his head, beside Leon, who was on his knees with his hands fisted in his hair.

"This is your fault, you cretinous, eel-faced swine!" Cloud sobbed.

"Be quiet, you foul, bile-laced toad-spawn!" Leon moaned back.

Zack blinked.

"You guys okay?"

Yep. Back to normal.

((I apologise for the four-month wait for this. I wrote this story purely so that everyone could enjoy it, not just the slash fans- and I'm a 'perfectionist' my friends say, so, it took a long while for me to get this chapter the way I wanted it, plus the slash scene that wanted to be in there. I really hope anyone who enjoyed this fic until this point doesn't stop reading now because of the slash. But, I'm sorry if you do. There will be no more hardcore geiness... Hopefully. I would also like to thank 'Knit . pump' for putting up with my whining early in the writing of this chapter, and thank 'Moonwillow', 'Jollander', and 'KitVis7' for their reviews. They were very, very helpful and nice. I hope you all enjoy!))


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